“We don’t want your offers, ye pirate thief, nor your chances neither. Ye’ve only got our crumbles. Oi’ve sent a mort o’ customers to hell, and you can goo with ’em.” “As you please.” Will picked up the whip-end quietly. But the old volcano was still rumbling. “You crush my Jinny—you with your flags and rags. Why, all Bradmarsh ’ould give ye rough music. Ye’d be tin-kettled.” “Very well! Only don’t say I didn’t give you a fair and friendly chance. Don’t blame me if you come to want bread.” “Bread!” The old man sprang towards the chest of drawers and this time the cake was stabbed to the heart. “Have a shiver?” he cried magnificently, holding up a regal hunk on the knife-point. Even Will was taken aback by this deed of derring-do. “Better save it up,” he said sullenly. “Save it?” repeated Daniel hysterically. Nip was already on his hind legs begging for it—with a superb gesture the prodigal grandfather threw it at the tireless mouth. “Never you darken my doorstep again!” he cried to Will. Will cracked his bit of whip with a scornful laugh. “Before you see me in this house again, you’ll have to carry me in!” “Carry him in? D’ye hear that, Nip?” The ancient chuckled contemptuously. “That’s a good ’un.” “Carry me in,” repeated Will fiercely. And holding up his hand, “So help me God!” he cried. “Spare your swearings, buoy-oy,” said Daniel grimly, throwing the plaintive Nip another pile of sugary splendour. “Ye ’ont never cross this threshold agen save on your hands and knees.” And sending his knife quivering into the floor, he brought down his hand on his Bible. “On your hands and knees,” he repeated solemnly. Will turned and strode out stiffly. He looked almost tall. A moment later they heard the clatter and jingle of the great equipage moving forwards and the jubilant winding of the long horn. CHAPTER X HORSE, GROOM, AND BRIDE _Then lay my tott’ring legs so low_ _That have run very far,_ _O’er hedges and o’er ditches,_ _O’er turnpike gate and bar,_ _Poor old horse! Poor old horse!_ Somerset Song. I