"Yes," she said, her face flushing again, but speaking very quietly. "Taking one thing with another, I am not sure but it is killing him." After this break, I did not care to go to the shooting, but turned back to Crabb Cot. Mrs. Todhetley was alone in the bow-windowed parlour, so I told her of the state the Leases were in, and asked if she would not help them. "I don't know what to say about it, Johnny," she said, after a pause. "If I were willing, you know Mr. Todhetley would not be so. He can't forgive Lease for his carelessness. Every time Lena wakes up from sleep in a fright, fancying it is another accident, his anger returns to him. We often hear her crying out, you know, down here in an evening." "The carelessness was no fault of Lease's children, that they should suffer for it." "When you grow older, Johnny, you will find that the consequences of people's faults fall more on others than on themselves. It is very sad the Leases should be in this state; I am sorry for them." "Then you'll help them a bit, good mother." Mrs. Todhetley was always ready to help any one, not needing to be urged; on the other hand, she liked to yield implicitly to the opinions of the Squire. Between the two, she went into a dilemma. "Suppose it were Lena, starving for want of food and warmth?" I said. "Or Hugh sick with fever, as that young Tom is? Those children have done no more harm than ours." Mrs. Todhetley put her hand up to her face, and her mild eyes looked nearly as sad as Lease's. "Will you take it to them yourself, Johnny, in a covered basket, and not let it be seen? That is, make it your own doing?" "Yes." "Go to the kitchen then, and ask Molly. There are some odds and ends of things in the larder that will not be particularly wanted. You see, Johnny, I do not like to take an active part in this; it would seem like opposing the Squire." Molly was stooping before the big fire, basting the meat, in one of her vile humours. If I wanted to rob the larder, I must do it, she cried; it was my business, not hers; and she dashed the basting spoon across the table by way of accompaniment. I gave a good look round the larder, and took a raised pork-pie that had a piece cut out of it, and a leg of mutton three parts eaten. On the shelf were a dozen mince-pies, just out of their patty-pans; I took six and left six. Molly, screwing her face round the kitchen-door, caught sight of them as they went into the basket, and rushing after me out of the house, shrieked out for her mince-pies. The race went on. She was a woman not to be daunted. Just as we turned round by the yellow barn, I first, she raving behind, the Squire pounced upon us, asking what the uproar meant. Molly told her tale. I was a thief, and had gone off with the whole larder, more particularly with her mince-pies. "Open the basket, Johnny," said the Squire: which was the one Tod and I used when we went fishing.