"But, then, it ain't," said Sim, smiling. "You see, I knew where to pick up a good missus." "Yes," retorted his wife, "and then tried to pine her to dead for all you'd do to feed her. Will ta have a few broth?" "Yes," said Sim, taking the basin she offered him and sniffing at it. "Say, wife, you've been waring your money at a pretty rate." "I've wared no money ower that," said Mrs Slee. "Thou mayst thank parson for it." "Yah!" growled Sim, dipping his spoon, and beginning angrily; "this mutton's as tough as a bont whong." "There, do sup thee broth like a Christian, if thee canst!" exclaimed Mrs Slee. "Wilt ta have a tate?" Sim held out his basin for the "tate" his wife was denuding of its jacket, and she dropped it into the broth. "Say!" exclaimed Sim, poking at the potato with his spoon, "these taters are strange and sad." Mrs Slee did not make any reply, but went on peeling potatoes one by one, evidently in search of a floury one to suit her husband, who objected to those of a waxy or "sad" nature. But they were all alike, and he had to be content. "I'll have a few more broth," said Sim, at the end of a short space of time, and before his wife had had an opportunity to partake of a mouthful; and this being ladled out for him and finished, Sim condescended to say "that them broth wasn't bad." "Have you got any black beer?" he now asked. Mrs Slee had--a little, and the bottle of black beer, otherwise spruce, being produced, Sim had a teaspoonful of the treacly fluid mixed in a mug of hot water with a little sugar; and then, leaving his wife to have her meal, he rose and went out. A week had passed since the discovery of the loss of the bands, and though Sim had been dodging about and watching in all directions, he had never once hit upon Joe Banks alone, so he had at last made up his mind to go straight to his house, and, to use his own words, "beard the lion in his den." A good deal had taken place in the interval, and among other things, Richard Glaire, in opposition to the advice of his mother and Banks, had applied for a warrant against Tom Podmore, for destroying or stealing the bands; but as yet, from supineness or fear on the part of the local police, it had not been put in force. For things did not look pleasant in Dumford; men were always standing about in knots or lounging at the doors of their houses, looking loweringly at people who passed. There had been no violence, and, in a prosperous little community, a week or two out of work had little effect upon a people of naturally saving habits and considerable industry; but those who were wise in such matters said that mischief was brewing, and it was reported that meetings were held nightly at the Bull and Cucumber--meetings of great mystery, where oaths were taken, and where the doors were closed and said to be guarded by men with drawn swords.