The old woman put on her spectacles and read the letter slowly. “Go, John! go by all means! I will see all your things moved into the new house--don't let them be a hindrance; you go. Your old mother will take care your things are not hurt moving, nor you wronged in the way of expense.” “Thank you, mother! thank you! they say there is no friend like a mother, and I dare say they are not far wrong.” “No such friend but God--none such but God!” said the old woman with great emphasis and looking Meadows in the face with a searching eye. “Well, then, here are the keys of the new house, and here are my keys. I am off tonight, so good-by, mother. God bless you!” He had just turned to go, when by an unusual impulse he turned, took the old woman in his hands, almost lifted her off the ground, for she weighed light, and gave her a hasty kiss on the cheek; then he set her down and strode out of the house about his business. When curious Hannah ran in the next moment she found the old lady in silent agitation. “Oh, dear! What is the matter, Dame Meadows?” “Nothing at all, silly girl.” “Nothing! And look at you all of a tremble.” “He took me up all in a moment and kissed me. I dare say it is five-and-twenty years since he kissed me last. He was a curly-headed lad then.” So this had set the poor old thing trembling. She soon recovered her firmness and that very evening Hannah and she slept in John's house, and the next day set to and began to move his furniture and prepare his new house for him. CHAPTER XXXIII. PETER CRAWLEY received a regular allowance during his chief's absence and remained in constant communication with him, and was as heretofore his money-bag, his tool, his invisible hand. But if anybody had had a microscope and lots of time they might have discovered a gloomy hue spreading itself over Crawley's soul. A pleasant illusion had been rudely shaken. All men have something they admire. Crawley admired cunning. It is not a sublime quality, but Crawley thought it was, and revered it with pious, affectionate awe. He had always thought Mr. Meadows No. 1 in cunning, but now came a doleful suspicion that he was No. 2. Losing a portion of his veneration for the chief he had seen outmaneuvered, he took the liberty of getting drunk contrary to his severe command, and being drunk and maudlin he unbosomed himself on this head to a low woman who was his confidante whenever drink loosened his tongue. “I'm out spirits, Sal. I'm tebbly out spirits. Where shall we all go to? I dinn't think there was great a man on earth z Mizza Meadows. But the worlz wide. Mizza Levi z greada man--a mudge greada man (hic). He was down upon us like a amma (hic). His Jew's eye went through our lill sgeme like a gimlet. 'Fools!' says he--that's me and Meadows, 'these dodges were used up in our family before Lunnun was built. Fools!' Mizza Levi despises me and Meadows; and I respect him accordingly. I'm tebbly out spirits (hic).” CHAPTER XXXIV.