Hannaford had been a queer old file, cantankerous, cute in his way, scheming, but doing nothing with his plans, because he neither had the means nor the vigour to carry them out. Julia had believed implicitly in him, and “Alack a jimminy!” said she, “vayther were a wun’nerful clever man; if he’d only not been crippled, and had had a penny wi’ which he could speckerlate, he’d ha’ been a gem’man by now.” Jack Hannaford had possessed a friend, a very knowing man named Eli Rattenbury, who lived about two miles off by himself. Eli had never been married. He did little jobs off and on for farmers, but was humorous, and at a word would leave his task and sulk and starve, rather than work for the man who had offended him. He was said to poach. He certainly gained a living by blessing wounds, “striking” tumours, and he possessed a “kenning stone,” with which he touched and healed inflamed and sore eyes. He was held to be a bit of a rogue. He possessed unbounded influence over the ignorant peasantry, even over the farmers, who dreaded offending him; and it was shrewdly suspected that, although he had no regular vocation and occupation, he had amassed a tidy sum of money. Food did not cost him much, for he either, as was surmised, took a rabbit when he wanted one, or if he coveted a duck or a piece of pork, had only to ask for it, and no one dared deny him what he desired, lest ill luck should befall the denier. Eli Rattenbury had a wonderful faculty for finding out when a pig had been killed anywhere in the district beyond earshot of its squeals, and so surely as a porker had been slain and was being scalded, he appeared on the scene, and did not leave without a portion of the pig. Now it happened that the Redlakes had been fattening up one of these animals, but instead of killing it, they sold it. They had a supply of bacon that would last them through the winter, and so did not require more for their personal consumption. Very soon after, when Richard was out at work, Eli Rattenbury appeared at the door, and without knocking came in. “I don’t smell the pig in the sty,” said he. “No; we’m rid us of him?” “Killed? and not given me a spare-rib!” “No, Eli; us sold ’n.” “You don’t mean to say so! And what did he fetch?” She told him, and added, “But, Eli, you shall have some nice salt bacon hanging yonder. We’ve sold our calf as well.” “You’re lucky folk to be able to keep a cow.” “Well, we are; and we can always dispose of our butter.” “And you have fowls as well.” “Yes; and the regrader takes them also. I’ll put you up some eggs in a basket.” Old Eli considered. “I thought you might have sent ’em, wi’out my havin’ to fetch ’em,” was his ungracious comment. “I am very sorry, Eli.” “You ort to be, considerin’ your father and me was like brothers. By the way, I ha’ had dreams—that is to say, visions—about _he_ lately.” “No, never! I hope all is well with old vayther.” “Middlin’,” responded Eli.