"Stop!" roared Dick, from whose face the puzzled look seemed to have departed, to give place to one of angry decision; and he stepped, hammer in hand, close up to his brother. "Look here, Max," he cried, in a low, hoarse voice, "I don't want to play Cain, and there ain't much of the Abel about you; but my poor gal here,"--he placed his arm round her as he spoke, and she hid her hot, indignant face upon his shoulder--"my poor gal here, I say, once read to me when she was a little un about a blacksmith knocking a man down with his hammer because he insulted his daughter. Now, you've insulted my dear, sweet gal, as the very poorest and lowest labourer about here has a respectful word for, and even the very costers at the stalls; and you've made my blood bile--poor, and thin, and beggarly as it is. So, now then, this is my house till I leaves it. I ain't Wat Tyler, and you ain't a tax-gatherer, but if you ain't gone in half a moment I'll give you what for." "You scoundrel--you shall repent this!" cried Max. But Dick made at him so menacingly that he hurried out of the house. "Uncle," began Tom, who had stopped behind. "Off with you!" cried Dick sternly. "I won't hear a word. No: nor you sha'n't touch her. Jessie, say good-bye to him, and there's an end of it. We'll emigrate." "Oh, father, what have I done?" cried Jessie. "Nothing, Jessie, but what is right, my own darling; and here, before your father and mother--" "Tom!" shouted Max from without. "I swear," continued Tom, "that I'll never give you up." "That'll do," said Dick, uncompromisingly. "He's calling you. Out of my house!" "Uncle," said Tom, "when you are cooler you'll think better of me, I hope. I can't help this. I do love Jessie dearly." "I won't hear a word," cried Dick. "But you'll shake hands with me?" "No: I'm a poor shoemaker, and you're a gentleman. Be off!" "Oh, father! father!" cried Jessie; and she flung her arms round his neck. "No, I won't give way," cried Dick; but he was patting and soothing his child as he spoke. "Shake hands with him, Dick," whispered Mrs Shingle. "It ain't his fault." "I won't!" cried Dick. "It _is_ his fault. He had no business to come." "No, father, it was my fault," sobbed Jessie. "Shake hands with him-- please do!" All this while Tom was standing with extended hand; and at last Dick's went out to join it for a moment, and was then snatched away. "Good-bye, dear Jessie," said Tom then; "but mind, I shall keep to my word." "Is that scoundrel coming?" said Max from without. Dick made a vicious "offer," as if to throw his hammer at the door; but Mrs Shingle took it from his hand. "I'm coming," said Tom loudly; and then, taking Jessie's hand, he kissed it tenderly, and, as the poor girl began to sob piteously, he hurried out of the house and was gone. VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER FIVE. FRED IS BUSY.