"More than that, Roger--hark to this, man!" and, as he slapped his breeches pocket, there was the chink as of a mine of money shaken to its foundations: "hark to this, man! and more than hark, have! Here, good wife, hold your apron!" And he flung into her lap a handful of silver. Roger gave a sudden shout of wonder, joy, and avarice: and then as instantaneously turning very pale, he slowly muttered, "Hush, Ben! is it bloody money?" and almost shrieked as he added, "and my poor boy Tom, too, with you! God-a-mercy, mun! how came ye by it?" "Honestly, neighbour, leastways, middling honest: don't damp a good fellow's heart, when he means to serve you." "Tell me only that my boy is innocent!--and the money--yes, yes, I'll keep the money;" for his wife seemed to be pushing it from her at the thought. "I innocent, father! I never know'd till this minute that Ben had any blunt at all--did I, Ben?--and I only brought him and Rover here to sup, because I thought it neighbourly and kind-like." Poor Tom had till now been very silent: some how the pheasants lay heavy on his stomach. "Is it true, Ben, is it true? the lad isn't a thief, the lad isn't a murderer? Oh, God! Burke, tell me the truth! "Blockhead!" was the courteous reply, "what, not believe your own son? Why, neighbour Acton, look at the boy: would that frank-faced, open-hearted fellow do worse, think you, than Black Burke? And would I, bad as I be, turn the bloody villain to take a man's life? No, neighbour; Ben kills game, not keepers: he sets his wire for a hare, but wouldn't go to pick a dead man's pocket. All that's wrong in me, mun, the game-laws put there; but I'm neither burglar, murderer, highwayman--no, nor a mean, sneaking thief; however the quality may think so, and even wish to drive me to it. Neither, being as I be no rogue, could I bear to live a fool; but I should be one, neighbour, and dub myself one too, if I didn't stoop to pick up money that a madman flings away." "Madman? pick up money? tell us how it was, Ben," interposed female curiosity.