And without loss of time she hastened home, and almost immediately appeared again, bringing him the tea herself, and earnestly declaring that she was sure he had only to taste it, to set all right, to which Jones answered not a word, but rather gloomily thanked her for the trouble she had taken. When he was once more alone, he smelt the tea, shook his head and frowned; then he put it away until evening came round, when he gave it to Mary, and without further explanation, simply told her that was the tea they were going to have this evening. Unconscious Mary made the tea. "La! Father," she exclaimed, as she poured the boiling water upon it, "what beautiful tea you've got; it's quite fragrant." "Is it?" he echoed, faintly, "Why, of course it is," she said, pettishly, "I am sure that fellow opposite ain't got nothink like it." Richard Jones leaned his brow on his hand, and checked a groan. But when the tea was drawn, when it was poured out, when he raised the cup to his lips and tasted it, the man's courage forsook him; he put down the cup, and cried like a child. "Father! father!" exclaimed Mary, frightened and bewildered. "Oh! my darling!" he cried, "we're ruined--we're lost!--that tea is Joseph Saunders's tea; and he gives it for four shillings, and it's better than my five. And I can't give it, nor I can't get it neither," he added, despairingly; "for I have not got credit, and little cash; and I buy dear, and dear I must sell, or starve!" Of this speech, all Mary understood, was that the tea she had been making was tea from Mr. Saunders's shop. She deliberately rose, poured the contents of the teapot on the ashes in the hearth; the contents of her own teacup, then of her father's quickly followed; then she sat down, folded her arms, and uttered a grim: "There! I only wish I could serve him so," she added after a pause. But what Mary meant by this wish--to pour out Joseph Saunders like his own tea, seems rather a fantastic image, even for hate--the present writer does not venture to determine. "It's all over!" sadly said Jones; "we can't compete with him. I'll shut up shop, and we'll go to some other neighbourhood, and live in our old way. After all, I'll not be a richer nor a poorer man than before my cousin left me the sixty pound." "You ain't got no spirit!" cried Mary, turning scarlet with anger. "Give in to that fellow!--I'd have more spirit than that," she added with mighty scorn. Her father attempted to remonstrate; but the wilful little thing would not listen to facts or to reason. She was sure Saunders could not keep up much longer--that she was. They had only to wait, and wear him out. Alas! it is very hard to tear out ambition and pride from the heart of man, rich or poor. In an evil hour, Richard Jones yielded. CHAPTER XVII.