“Oh, Lord!” mused Kettle, with his eyes upon the jam-pot of magnolia blossom, “why can’t this boodle be grabbed by a man like me? What have I done that I should kick up and down the world, and earn my living by being ugly to crews? If I’d means there wouldn’t be a wholesomer man between here and heaven. I’d have that farm, with cows on it, and sheep, and a steam threshing-machine, and I’d ride about the fields on a horse, and boss the hands just like Abraham did. I’d have the farm-buildings all painted white, with red roofs; and the house should be painted stone-color, with green shutters, and red flower-pots in the windows. No more lodging-house-keeping for the missis in Llandudno. I’d just waltz in there and turn the brutes she’d been slaving for right out into the street, and then take her off to my new farm before she’d time to gasp. We’d have a girl to do the house-work, and my old woman should be a lady, with nothing to do but trot round after her and see she did it. The kids—well, I guess I’d send them off to first-class boarding-schools first, and pay forty pounds each for them every year so long as there was anything more for them to learn. But they should come to us for the holidays; and in the evenings they and the missis should sing hymns, and I’d play the tunes for them on the accordion. I’d teach them to hold up their heads amongst the neighbors. And on Sunday nights we’d have in the minister to supper, and fill him out. Yes, Mr. Onslow, that’s the kind of man I am. Let me bend yellow gaiters and shave my chin, and there wouldn’t be a better, more God-fearing, more capable farmer ever attended market. It’s only the sea and the want of money that ever made me hanker to steal. Yes; poverty’s made me do a heap of mischief one way and another. I believe,” he added tentatively, “It would be worth somebody’s while to make me a well-off man even now. I’d be a deal safer that way.” “It’s probable,” said Onslow dryly; “at any rate, for the while. But I don’t feel inclined to pension you off myself. For one thing, I couldn’t afford it out of my own pocket; and for another, I’m not going to let you have your pickings from the specie. It’s been trouble enough already, and if I can’t have it for myself, I’m jolly well going to make my conscience pat me on the back for handing it over to the right man.” “I believe,” said Kettle, “I’d do the same if I were in your shoes; but, you see, I’m not, Mr. Onslow, and that’s why I wish it could be worked different. Hallo! here’s the donkeyman back again from his hunting. I wonder what he’ll have to say to it all? I wonder whether the donkeyman and I’ll chip in over what we’ve got and a free grant of land in Canada, or whether we’ll contrive to get independent for life before we leave this part of the world?”