“Yo’re furgettin’ th’ weaste, mi lad; Mester Christopher allus alleaws fur weaste.” He looked at the woman, conscious there could be no waste in cutting umbrella-gores. She winked at him. “Oh,” said Jabez, conscious he was learning something not down in his indentures. “And how much does he allow?” “Abeawt a yard an’ a hauve th’ dozen.” she replied. “And how do you contrive to waste it?” Jabez asked. She winked again. “Eh, but yo’re a young yorney. Yo’d best ax Mester Christopher that.” “I think I’d best ask Mrs. Ashton that, if she’s in the warehouse,” rejoined he, sending his scissors through the gingham at the proper place. “Yo’d better not, or yo’n cut off yo’r nose to spite yo’r own feace;” and the woman nodded her head knowingly. “T’other ’prentice knows whatn weaste means if thah dunnot; an’ manny’s th’ breet shillin’ it’s put in his breeches pocket, my lad.” “Oh, that’s it, is it?” said Jabez, whilst he was counting over the already bundled up whalebone sticks, &c., to complete the umbrella fittings. “As our mistress would say, ‘We may live and learn.’” He found that whalebone, ferules, handles, leathers, wheels, were all in excess. An extra umbrella might be made from the superabundant materials. Thereupon he wakened Christopher to do his own work, simply remarking that he thought the bundles of sticks, &c., had been miscounted. “Oh, no, Clegg, they’re a’ reet; we’re obleeged to put in moore fur fear some on ’em shouldn’ split in makkin’ oop,” said old Christopher, cunningly, as if for his information. Jabez took no further notice then, but shouldering a great bundle of large umbrellas, carried them through the fringe room, and there noticed that, despite the caution he had given, his fellow-apprentice was dexteriously manipulating silk and scales to falsify the weights he called out. CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH. EASTER MONDAY. That evening Jabez, a clear-eyed, open-browed youth in his seventeenth year, upright, well-knit, and firmly built for his age, knocked at the parlour-door after Miss Augusta had been sent to bed. There was some trouble on his countenance, as though he was bent on an errand utterly repugnant to him. He was truly sorry to be the means, however remotely, of bringing disgrace on both an old man and a young one; but Simon had led him to the conclusion that if there was little honour in turning informer, there would be absolute dishonesty in keeping silence whilst he saw his master robbed. Yet he hesitated, and lingered with his hand on the handle of the door, after the clear voice of Mr. Ashton had twice invited him to “come in.” Mr. Ashton therefore opened the door, and saw Jabez with a design for a bell-rope tassel in his hand. “Well, Jabez, what is it? Something special you have to show us?” “No, sir; I only brought this lest any of the servants should be curious about my errand here.”