"I'd pay handsome," said Giles. "You ax 'em, mum." "Well, I will if you like; but don't you think you are very foolish? There you are, a man of property, who can hold up your head with the best, and pay your way, and you want to come back here among a lot of miserable paupers." "I've a-been twenty year here," observed Giles, making the statement in a dispassionate tone. "I know 'em all here, and I'm used to the ways. I couldn't never get used to no other ways, and no other folks. I'd sooner bide, mum, if ye'd ax 'em to let me. I'd not give no trouble--no more n' I ever did, an' I'd pay for my keep." "Well, well," said the matron, staring at him in puzzled amazement. "Can I go up to 'em again for a bit?" queried the old man. "Me and Jim was in the middle of a game." "Oh, yes, you can go up to them." He rose, scraped his leg and pulled his forelock as usual, and backed out of the room, leaving his fine new hat on the ground beside his chair. Coming upon it presently, the matron decided to return it herself to the owner; perhaps she was a little curious to see how he comported himself among his mates. She opened the door of the old men's ward so quietly that no one noticed her entrance; the room was full of tobacco smoke, and the inmates were sitting or standing about as usual. Giles sat in his old corner, with Jim opposite to him; both had removed their coats, and the grizzled heads were bent together over the battered cards. "You be in luck, Jim," Giles exclaimed as the matron closed the door. "You've turned up a Jack!" "THE WOLD LOVE AND THE NOO" "Have ye heard the noos?" said Betty Tuffin, thrusting in her head at old Mrs. Haskell's open door. "Lard, no, my dear," returned her crony, hastily dropping the crooked iron bar with which she had been drawing together the logs upon her hearthstone. "There, I never do seem to hear anything nowadays, my wold man bein' so ter'ble punished wi' the lumbaguey and not able to do a hand's turn for hisself. Why, I do assure 'ee I do scarce ever set foot out o' door wi'out it's to pick up a bit o' scroff, or a few logs--an' poor ones they be when I've a-got 'em. I can hardly see my own hand for the smoke. Step in, do, Betty love, an' tell I all what's to be told." Betty had stepped in long before Mrs. Haskell had concluded her harangue, and had, by this time, taken possession of a comfortable corner of the screened settle, deposited her basket by her side, folded her arms, and assumed that air of virtuous indignation which denoted that she was about to relate the shortcomings of some third party. "Dear, to be sure! Souls alive! Lard ha' mercy me, ye could ha' knocked I down wi' a feather when Keeper told I--"