picture of the trial and deportation. For the devoted sister had walked the bulk of the way to Winchester, in the hope of proving his innocence by collecting testimonies to his character, and had joined the mob of weeping women who hung round the gaol gates night and day, or crowded the court, only to witness the sanctimonious cruelty of the bewigged judges, and the tragic exodus of the damned in the prison coach, guarded by a file of soldiers, to lie in the hulks at Southampton till they were shipped to savage Australia, there to be assigned to brutal stockowners. It was an experience which had cost Mrs. Bidlake dear; her next child had been stillborn, and to this day she had never reared but one more infant, and that a still delicate one. But for the comfort of the Peculiar faith it would have been a cheerless household. She was now again brought to bed: it was to inquire about her that Jinny had hailed the barge, and very sad she was to learn from Brother Bidlake—when he had punted within earshot—that the new baby had succumbed after a few hours, though the “missus,” thank God, was recovering and the twins were “wunnerful good and helpful.” She was not sorry, however, that the undoctored infant had departed with a precipitation which rendered an inquest unlikely, for inquests were the bane of the Brotherhood. IX It was twilight when Methusalem drew up again before the twin doors. This time Caleb did not fail. “Sow glad you ain’t brought the wet!” “But I have—he’s snoring inside,” Jinny called down. “Lord!” said Caleb, taking another look. “Oi did see his head, but by this owl-light Oi thought ’twas a cheese.” Jinny’s laugh rippled out and Elijah Skindle started up and sneezed. He looked round dazedly for his cap. “We’ve arrived?” he asked shamefacedly, clapping it on. “Yes,” said Jinny, “but the pig’s all right. I fear you’ve had a wasted journey.” She jumped down. “Wasted?” He sat up ardently. “Don’t say wasted.” “A good nap _is_ a comfort,” she agreed. “I may have dozed off—your singing rocked me to sleep, I reckon. But all the while I’ve been trying to tell you——” His voice broke. “I know,” she said softly. “I heard you.” “Did I talk in my sleep?” he asked innocently. “Through your nose.” He winced as at a blow on it. “That’s—that’s nature,” he stammered: “I don’t suppose even females are free from snoring.” “Maria isn’t,” observed Jinny, patting Methusalem. Martha hurried out happily, with a piece of sugar for the same favoured beast. “Maria’s been walking with me!” she cried rapturously. “And eating hearty,” added Caleb. “If you ask me, she was drunk.” “Oh, Flynt!” cried Martha. “Aren’t you ashamed to speak like that about your own pig; and before strangers?” “But that rolled and kicked last night same as a sow Oi seen once that swallowed a thick wine. Happen Maria got swillin’ at old Peartree’s beer-barrel!” “How could she do that?” Jinny protested.