This mental process was, however, at least equally familiar to the Cheap Jack, and he did not hesitate, in his own mind, to feel sure that the letter had not been found, but stolen. In which he was farther from the truth than if he had simply believed George. But then he was not in the neighborhood five years back, and, as it happened, he had never heard of the lost pocket-book. CHAPTER XIII. GEORGE AS A MONEYED MAN.—SAL.—THE “WHITE HORSE.”—THE WEDDING.—THE WINDMILLER’S WIFE FORGETS, AND REMEMBERS TOO LATE. EXCITEMENT, the stifling atmosphere of the public-house, and the spirits he had drunk at his friend’s expense, had somewhat confused the brains of the miller’s man by the time that the Cheap Jack rose to go. George was, as a rule, sober beyond the wont of the rustics of the district, chiefly from parsimony. When he could drink at another man’s expense, he was not always prudent. “So you’ve settled to go, my dear?” said the dwarf, as they stood together by the cart. “Business being slack, and parties unpleasantly suspicious, eh?” “Never you mind,” said George, who felt very foolish, and hoped himself successful in looking very wise; “I be going to set up for myself; I’m tired of slaving for another man.” “Quite right, too,” said the dwarf; “but all businesses takes money, of which, my dear, I doesn’t doubt you’ve plenty. You always took care of Number One, when you did business with Cheap John.” At that moment, George felt himself a sort of embodiment of shrewd wisdom; he had taken another sip from the glass, which was still in his hand, and the only drawback to the sense of magnified cunning by which his ideas seemed to be illumined was a less pleasant feeling that they were perpetually slipping from his grasp. To the familiar idea of outwitting the Cheap Jack he held fast, however. “It be nothin’ to thee what a have,” he said slowly; “but a don’t mind ’ee knowin’ so much, Jack, because ’ee can’t get at un; haw, haw! Not unless ’ee robs the savings-bank.” The dwarf’s eyes twinkled, and he affected to secure some pictures that hung low, as he said carelessly,— “Savings-banks be good places for a poor man to lay by in. They takes small sums, and a few shillings comes in useful to a honest man, George, my dear, if they doesn’t go far in business.” “Shillings!” cried George, indignantly; “pounds!” And then, doubtful if he had not said too much, he added, “A don’t so much mind ’ee knowing, Jack, because ’ee can’t get at ’em!” “It’s a pity you’re such a poor scholar, George,” said the Cheap Jack, turning round, and looking full at his friend; “you’re so sharp, but for that, my dear. You don’t think you counts the money over in your head till you makes it out more than it is, now, eh?” “A can keep things in my yead,” said George, “better than most folks can keep a book; I knows what I has, and what other folks can’t get at. I knows how I put un in. First, the five-pound bill”—