"How is it?" said he. "Why, haven't I been a poor man all my life? and when a man is poor everything goes against him, doesn't it?" "I am not sure that it does, neighbour Bean. Some have not found it so," said I; not adding, however, as I might have done, that there were other poor men in the world, who were not in the habit of battering their wives, as he had done. He had always been a lone thing in the world--so he said; he had never known father or mother, brother or sister. He had been brought up in the parish workhouse, to which he had been taken when a helpless baby; and when old enough to do a bit of work he was set to that. According to his statement he was badly used by everybody in the house, and was glad enough to get sent out to service as a waggoner's boy at a farm. But there he wasn't treated much better, for he was knocked about by the waggoner till he couldn't stand it any longer, so he ran away. There were bills stuck about the country, describing him, and offering a reward to any one for taking him up and bringing him back again. "But they forgot that I could read the bills as well as they could," said poor old Bean, with a chuckle. "But why did they take the trouble to post bills about you?" "They said I had taken something that wasn't mine--the waggoner's money," old Ned explained, with a little reluctance. "I suppose you were not caught and taken back to your place?" "No; I took care to get far enough away, and went into the country with a set of tramps. I got work in a hop garden, and when hopping was over, master, seeing I was a likely sort of a young chap, offered to take me on, and give me regular work." "Well, that was kind, at all events," I remarked. "Don't you think so, neighbour?" "Oh, I don't know as to that," said the old man; "if he hadn't thought I was worth my money, he wouldn't have took to me. Every man for himself, you know." "Well, anyhow, in being for himself, your new master was for you as well, I think." Bean went on to say he slaved and slaved, and got his pay, but not much thanks. But he couldn't do better; and so he stopped, and went on slaving "lots of years," till he "was a man upgrown." Then he got married. "To the same poor old creature whom you so badly misused the other day, and who has sent you her forgiving messages by me?" "Ah, yes, well; just as you like, sir; only she wasn't old then. That was forty years gone by." "You have lived together forty years, then? and have always been poor, as I suppose, neighbour?" "You are safe to say that, master," he replied, sharply. "How is a man to get rich on twelve or fourteen shillings a week, and sometimes out of work, and a family to bring up?" "Not very likely to get rich--especially when he spends much of his spare time and a large part of his earnings at the beershop," I ventured to say.