Julia stood still, and some of her colour went. “I hope he’s not gone——” “Oh, no fear o’ that. He’s all right, so far. But you know, Julia, your poor vayther was never a church nor a chapel goin’ man.” “’Cos o’ his legs,” explained Julia. “Well, I don’t say nothin’ about the raysons, but you know so well as I do, he were not one as went to church or chapel.” “No,” said the daughter. “Well, then, how was he to find his way to where he ’ort to ha’ gone to when he left this world of woe? As a fact, he lost his way and got into Americay by mistake.” “Well, now, I never!” exclaimed Mrs. Redlake. “Yes, true; he told me so,” said Eli Rattenbury. “I don’t see as you can expect any other. What’d be your situation, missus, if you was to get sudden-like out o’ the train, and be told to find your way to Golconda—or the Transvaal. You’d go wanderin’ about, and ten to one find yourself in quite another place. ’Twas so wi’ your poor father. Hobblin’ on upon them there sticks, he came into the United States o’ North Americay. Well, I seed ’n there in a vision. I thought I were carried there.” “You seed vayther?” “For sure I did,” answered Rattenbury. “Well, Eli, do tell me what he said, and how he did look.” “‘Go and tell Julia,’ sez he, ‘that I seez my way clear to realisin’ a tremenjous fortune. I’ve talked it over with my Betsy.’” “What—is mother there?” “Certain; her wasn’t neither church nor chapel goer, and her were just as lost as he about the road, and so got to Americay.” “Dear, now, to think it!” “‘Well,’” said he, “tell my Julia that I’m goin’ to set up a bacon factory; I’m goin’ to grow pigs, and mother’ll salt’n—her does it beautiful.’” “But where’s the money to come from?” asked the astonished woman. “That’s it. ‘Julia,’ sez he, ‘will lend me the money to start the pigs on.’” “There’s the money from the calf and the pig we sold,” mused Julia, “but Richard has put it away quite safe.” “Where?” “That I mayn’t tell,” she mused, and then said slowly, “I can’t do it wi’out axin’ Richard.” “Your vayther laid it on me that you was on no account to speak of it to he. ‘Men,’ sez he, ‘have such tongues. Talk of women, they’re nothing to men. When they gits together in a sunny hedge eatin’ of their lunch—bless y’, they talk of everything you can think on.’” “I don’t like to do it.” “He said—he will return it in double.” “How much does he want?” “Say ten pounds, just to make a start.” “And in a week——” “You’ll have twenty, and Richard no wiser.” “And how is that ten pounds to go to dear old vayther?”