“Nay, but I wouldn’t go as far as that,” old Ambrose replied, shaking his head to emphasise the negative; “hawks willn’t pick out hawks’ een, and Baldwin is gettin’ into years and’ll maybe be thankful to have an able-bodied young fellow o’ t’ same kidney to fetch and carry for him.” “Aye, but not to share what he fetches,” persisted the other, “they’re both playing for their own hand, and yon Inman’s t’ cleverest rogue o’ t’ two.” “Nay, nay, come now!” Maniwel broke in, “it’s t’ wrong time o’ t’ year for calling any man a rogue; and it ’ud seem most of us better to look after our own ’tatie patch than to count t’ thistles in our neighbour’s plot. You were asking me how we’re getting on, Swithin, and all I can say is ’at things might be a deal worse; and we’ve good hopes ’at when I’ve got my brass in they’ll be a deal better. As to t’ wicked prospering—well, there’s some kinds o’ prosperity ’at ’ud be dear at a gift.” Swithin had laid down his pipe and cleared his throat preparatory to answering this argument when the abrupt entrance of Inman turned all eyes in the direction of the door. With easy deliberateness the newcomer unwound the scarf from his neck and opened his great-coat, but removed neither. An amused and half-contemptuous smile was on his lips, and his dark eyes swept the company and rested for a moment with malignant satisfaction on the undisturbed features of Maniwel. “We’re favoured to-night, I see,” he remarked. “‘The gods have come down in the likeness of men!’” Nobody answered him, and he stood with his back to the closed door with the sardonic smile deepening about his lips. “I haven’t had the opportunity of wishing you the usual compliments, gentlemen,” he continued. “Absence must be my apology, and my absence can be explained in a few words. I prefer to be my own messenger when I have any news, good or ill, to share with my neighbours, and what I have to tell you is altogether good. I have been married whilst I was away, and have just brought my bride home with me. She has bid me leave this sovereign with you, Albert, so that the company may drink her health—the health of Nancy Inman, lately Nancy Clegg. I won’t ask you to drink mine.” He put the coin into the astonished landlord’s hand as he spoke, and curled his lip contemptuously as he noted the hostile silence which greeted the communication. Only one man spoke—it was he who had revealed his thoughts a moment before. “A lass ’at’ll wed thee is no loss to nob’dy,” he muttered sourly. “Indeed!” said Inman, wheeling round and fixing the speaker with an eye that stabbed. “I’ll remember that to your credit, Jack Pearce.” “Nay,” said Maniwel calmly; “you’d best forget it. Jack spoke before he thought. There’s one at my house ’at’ll be sorry he’s lost her, if so be as Mr. Inman’s speaking truth, which I don’t doubt.” “The truth’s here, in black and white,” Inman replied with equal calmness; “anyone can see it who wants”; and he offered a paper to the landlord.