“Nobody shall look after him but me. And his business—who is to look after that?” “Don’t worry. Some other carrier’ll crop up.” “There isn’t going to be any other carrier here but Daniel Quarles, understand that.” “Well, if you think you’ll find anybody to marry your grandfather——” he said sullenly. “Who wants to marry? I shall never give up the road.” “If you’re so fond of driving, there’s always my trap.” “No good setting traps for me. I’ll hang in a cage in no man’s parlour. I must fly about in the woods like now—free!” “Birds in the woods are sometimes hungry,” her wooer reminded her. “Suppose your business falls off—or things go to famine prices like five or six years ago. The gallon loaf ain’t always a shilling. Ten years ago I remember flour was two and ten the stone, and that only seconds, and tea was five shillings. With me you’d be sure of the fat of the land always—there’s no difference with me ’twixt Sundays and weekdays.” “Oh, it’s a stuffed bird you want for your parlour.” “Rubbish, I’ve got six stuffed birds in my parlour—in the loveliest glass cases!” “But they don’t sing!” And Jinny burst mockingly into a song that had hitherto been a mere tune to her: “_I’ll be no submissive wife,_ _No, not I——_” He lost his temper. “Oh, you needn’t make such a fuss over yourself. I dare say I can find plenty of wives—with my connexion.” “Among pigs?” she said sweetly. She jumped down and began to light the lamp. “This is your getting-out place.” “It’s nothing of the sort—I go on to the bridge.” “Impossible. My horse is lame.” “I know all about that.” And snatching up the reins she had dropped, “Gee-up!” he called suddenly. But Methusalem knew better. “You’ll never get home that way,” said Jinny, smiling. “Then how the hell——?” he began furiously. “Shanks’s mare,” she reminded him again. “That’s not lame.” He gave her a long, nasty look as though meditating the law of the stronger. But he tried pleading first. “By the time I walk home, my mother’ll have locked up; thinking I’m sitting up with a patient.” “There’s the poorhouse!” He winced. “You’ve got to carry me,” he said sullenly, “or I’ll have the law on you.” “There’s no law to make me carry aught save goods.” And she sang on carelessly: “_Should a humdrum husband say,_ _That at home I ought to stay——_” The little voice, rippling through those demure lips, wellnigh stung him to close her mouth with the masterful gag of kisses, but a remnant of sanity warned him not to spoil a fine animal practice by a scandal. Besides Jinny had her whip, and what was still more formidable, her horn. “I’ll be even with you for this!” And jumping down, he strode off furiously. “Hullo! Mr. Skindle! Hullo!” “Keep away from me!” It was at once an appeal and a warning. “Don’t you want your case of instruments? Not that you’ll be in time to kill those poor horses to-night.”