"The result of my kindness and liberality is that you are as you are, an idle, skulking, thieving vagabond." "Have you done?" asked Tom. "Not yet. I have had a serious complaint made against you, and I intend to take notice of it in a practical way. You have threatened the life of my clerk, Mr. Jeremiah Pamflett, a most estimable young man, in whom I place implicit confidence. You lie in ambush for him, and he goes in terror of you." "That's the best thing I've heard yet," said Tom Barley, rubbing his hands gleefully. "Such a state of things is no longer to be endured, and I shall put an end to it. Tom Barley, I discharge you from my service." "Is that all?" "That is all. I wash my hands of you. As to your conduct toward my clerk, I warn you to be very careful. A watch will be set upon you, and if you repeat your threats you will have to put up with the consequences." "I'll do that; it's a matter between this Jeremiah of yours and me. As to threatening his life, that I've never done. A long while ago I got him thrashed--I didn't do it myself; I was too big--for insulting your daughter, and if ever he insults her again, and I get to know it, he'll be thrashed again. As to being turned from your service, I'll put up with it. Whatever I do I can't be worse off than I am. But you said something else. You said I've got money rolled up in bundles somewhere, and that I've robbed you of it. Now out with it like a man; you did say it!" "Yes, I did," snarled Miser Farebrother. "What I've got to say to that is, that you're a liar! I ain't given to hard words, but when I'm drove to it I use 'em; and my answer to your charge is, you're a liar! Straight from the shoulder, master: you're a liar!" Upon that Tom marched out of the room, with erect head and angry eye; but when he got half-way down the staircase his look softened and his head drooped, for Phoebe stood before him. While he was in the presence of Miser Farebrother, asserting his manhood, he had not thought of her. She had heard the angry voices of her father and Tom, and she had waited to learn the cause. She beckoned Tom to follow her, and they were presently in the little room which she could call her own. "Oh, Tom," she said, "what is it?" "Well, miss," he replied, "I hardly like to say, but you'd get to know it if I didn't tell you. Your father and me's had a difference, all along of that clerk of his, Jeremiah, Mrs. Pamflett's white-livered son. He's been telling your father stories about me which ain't true. Don't believe 'em when you hear 'em--don't!" "I won't, Tom." "Thank you, miss. I'm going to leave Parksides, miss." "Oh, Tom!" "Your father's discharged me. If he hadn't, I don't know what I should have done, because--look at me, miss--I ain't fit to be seen." "Oh, Tom, I am so sorry! How I shall miss you!" "I feel that bad over it, because of you, that I can't express. But it ain't my fault." "I am sure it is not, Tom. Have you thought what you shall do?"