“_My_ hands aren’t tied,” the other replied with a sudden fierce passion that electrified the atmosphere and startled the stranger. The voice became a hiss, and the man’s face was bent forward until his cap almost touched the other’s forehead. A string of curses followed which, so far from relieving the pressure, seemed only to accentuate the master’s wrath. “_My_ hands aren’t tied,” he repeated, “and I’ll just manage without your help, Jagger Drake. I’m stalled of your long tongue and your milksop ways; and to be shut of you at t’ cost of a week’s wages’ll be a cheap bargain, so you can take yourself off to where they’ll do better for you. Here——:” He pulled out a purse, and having carefully counted sundry silver coins offered them to the young man who mechanically stretched out his hand to receive them. When they were in his palm the fingers did not close over them, nor did the hand drop. “I’m sacked, then?” he asked in a low, uncomprehending voice. “You’re sacked,” the other answered hotly. “Do you think I’m forced to stand here to be jawed at; let alone ’at you rob me out o’ good money, nearhand as oft as you do a job for me?” “Rob you?” “Aye, rob me! What else is it but robbery when you spend half as long again over a job as any other man? I haven’t forgot that there bit o’ work at Lane End, and the lip you gave me.” The man’s temper was still warm; but at the mention of Lane End the other recovered himself. He lowered his hand and thrust the coins uncounted into his trousers’ pocket, and the stunned look left his face. “If I’ve to choose between robbing widows and robbing you, Baldwin Briggs,” he said, “I’ll none need to think twice. And widow or no widow, honest folks don’t scamp their work; and I’ve been brought up in t’ wrong school for tricks o’ that sort. So if that’s your last word I’ll get my bass and make my way home.” He turned as he spoke and Mr. Briggs said nothing, but spat angrily after the retreating figure. Not one of the elderly men had uttered a word or moved a hand during the colloquy, and they remained motionless when the stranger crossed the road and going up to the master-carpenter laid a hand on his arm. “Are you filling this chap’s place?” he asked. Mr. Briggs turned with an angry gesture, but at sight of the stranger he controlled his features and took stock of the situation whilst staring into the newcomer’s face. He was naturally cautious, and his brain worked slowly. Some instinct told him that the man was a carpenter, probably skilled at his trade—“a likely lad” as he put it in his thoughts. On the other hand Jagger Drake was a good worker and a steady,—some of his customers would have no other—with no fault worth speaking of but a ridiculous conscientiousness; and the episode which had just ended had been more than half “play-acting” designed to bring the lad to his senses and show him on what dangerous ground he was standing.