Then his landlord grew tired of receiving no rent, and Peter had to leave his cottage, after selling his few "sticks" to his neighbours; or, rather, after his neighbours had come forward and given him a trifle for this and that article, which he would otherwise have left behind without an attempt to sell. And so he wandered out into the road, quietly, at dusk, when no one was observing, and stood for a moment at his gate, wavering which way to go; and then he turned at the sound of a dog barking, and went off slowly in the direction to which he had turned, with no pack--nothing but his clothes and the small amount from the sale in his pocket. As he passed the "Chain-Harve," his head still on his breast, Mr. Coffin (who had been away for ten days, and had not heard of Peter's latest straits) was standing in the doorway and caught sight of him. "Halloa, Master Peter," said Coffin. "Whither away now? Coming in to have half-a-pint?" Peter suddenly stopped in the light from the tap-room window, raised his head, and glared fiercely at the speaker: then spat on the ground before him, and disappeared into the darkness. The next morning, when Mr. Coffin heard all about Peter's recent troubles, he set off along the road the way he had gone, and searched for him high and low. Peter had been seen in the next village, and had bought a loaf and some cheese at the grocer's; but beyond this the seeker could not trace him. He tried the next day, and the next; but with no success. It was eight or nine weeks after this that, at sunset, Peter dragged himself from under a haystack where he had been asleep, and drew himself slowly up to a standing position. He was scarcely recognisable: his unwashed face was seared and lined with exposure, misery, and incessant brooding on the ill-luck which had long ago developed in his feeble mind into a crushing curse--a curse deliberately brought down upon himself by some awful and inexpiable blasphemy--for such was the phantasy which had evolved itself out of those harmless acts of spilling the salt and so forth at the inauguration of the Unbelievers' Club. Day and night--until he had fallen down with sheer inability to keep awake--he had wandered on, with his chin on his chest and his eyes on the road, brooding over the "blasphemy" and the "curse." He looked like a skeleton; his eyes had grey hollows all round; his clothes were in rags; and he had been wet through for many days.