"Why, that John Maine was out ivery night skulking 'bout the vicarage whiles he should ha' been at home i' bed like an honest man. And I telled ye he was in co. wi' a couple o' poachers and thieves over here fro' one o' the big towns; and I telled you he weer nobbut a tramp hissen." "How dare you speak of him like that?" cried Jessie, starting up with flashing eyes, and stamping her foot. "You wouldn't dare to speak so to John Maine's face, for fear he should beat you." "Hoity, toity!" exclaimed the farmer. "Who told thee to speak, lass? Let the man finish." "I will not sit here and listen to such talk," cried Jessie, angrily, and with an energy which plainly told her feelings towards the missing man. "Let him wait till John comes." "That wean't niver be," said the keeper, with a grin of satisfaction. "Because why? Just as I towd thee, farmer, there weer a robbery at the vicarage last night." "No!" cried old Bultitude, starting up with his mouth full. "Ay, mun, but there weer," cried Brough, in an exulting tone. "Just as I said theer'd be, all plotted and planned out to get parson's silver cups and toots--all plotted and planned out by John Maine and his blackguard mates. Thank your stars, and you too, Miss Jessie, as you haven't both been robbed and murdered." "I wean't believe it," cried the old farmer, angrily. "John Maine's got a bit wrong somehow, but he isn't the lad to rob nowt. He's raight to a penny always wi' his accounts." "That's his artfulness," sneered Brough. "Yah!" cried the farmer. "You've got hold of a cock and bull story up town, wheer they'll turn a slip on the causay into fower fatal accidents 'fore the news has got from the top of the High Street to the bottom." As he spoke Jessie crossed over to her uncle, laid her hands upon his shoulder, and stood with her eyes flashing indignant protest against the accuser of her lover. "Hev it your own waya," said Brough, quietly. "I were up at 'station, when parson comes in hissen, and tell'd Bowley that the party on 'em broke in at the vicarage last night, 'bout half-past twelve, and that he'd fote the men, and got 'em locked up, and John Maine wi' 'em. Them's parson's own words; and if parson's words arn't true, dal it all, who's is?" "I'll never, never believe it," cried Jessie, with an angry burst of indignation; and then, bursting into tears, she ran out of the room, sobbing bitterly. "Poor little lass!" said old Bultitude, softly; "she thinks a deal more o' John Maine than she does o' thee, my lad. But look here: I believe i' John Maine after all, and shall go on believing in him, though I am a bit popped agen him, till I sees him foun' guilty. Yow set me watching the lad one night, you know, Brough, and it all turned out a bam, for there he weer, safe in his bed. Just you let things bide till we know more 'bout 'em; and I don't thank ye, young man, for coming and spoiling my brackfast."