"Tyburn Tree!" said he suddenly. "The nubbing cheat! 'Tis there I'm like to go one o' these days an' all along o' my kind 'eart--with a curse on't. There were only three men in this 'ard world as knew o' this 'ere refuge, an' Ben Purvis was shot three year ago an' poor Nick Scrope swings a-top o' River Hill--which left only me. An' now 'ere's you--curse on my kind 'eart, says I!" "Indeed--oh, indeed you may trust me--" "W'y, there it is--I must trust you, blast my kind 'eart, I says! But look now, my cove, this here cave being as ye might say the secoor 'aven of a pore soul as the world don't love--if you should ever peach to a nark or speak a word of it to the queer coves, why then this pore soul will come a-seekin' till you're found an' blow your danged face off." Hereupon I broke into such fervent protestations of secrecy as seemed to satisfy him, for he turned, and from a roughly constructed cupboard took a black bottle and two mugs; having filled the mugs he passed one to me and, raising the other to his lips, nodded: "Happy days, pal!" said he; and so we drank together. The potent spirit warmed and comforted me despite the misery of wet boots and damp clothes, and seated on a box I was already half-asleep when his grip on my shoulder roused me and, starting up, I saw he had undone one of the bundles and spread the contents before me on the floor, namely: a rough jacket, cord breeches, woollen stockings and a pair of stout, clumsy shoes. "Get 'em on!" he commanded. So because I needs must, I obeyed; and though these rough garments fitted me but ill, I found them warm and comfortable enough. "You'll do!" he nodded. "Roll ye'self in the mud an' your own mother'll never know ye. An' now--off wi' you!" "Do you mean--I must go?" said I, aghast and shivering at the recollection of the dreary wilderness outside. "Aye, I do so!" quoth he, seating himself on the small barrel that served him as a chair. "And will you send me away destitute--without a penny?" At this he was silent awhile, head bowed as one in profound thought, then groping in his capacious pocket, he at last drew forth my purse, stared at it, weighed it on his palm and suddenly thrust it into my hand; then as I stood amazed beyond speech, he took out my watch. "Gold!" he muttered, as if to himself. "A gold tattler as would bring me--take it an' be damned!" saying which he thrust it savagely upon me. "This--this is generous--" I began. "Norra word!" he growled. "They said my feyther was a rogue an' hanged him according, but my mother was a saint as went back to heaven, so if you must thank anybody, thank 'er memory. An' now off wi' ye, lest minding my feyther, I take 'em back again." Hereupon I made haste to be gone, but reaching the blanket at the cave mouth, I turned and came back again. "Good-bye, Galloping Jerry!" said I, and held out my hand.