"They tell me," he said, "that it may be worth a pound or two. Well, well! It is an old friend, and I should be loath to part with the cheel, but----" "But," I repeated eagerly. "But," he continued, "things have been cruel bad with me o' late, and I have thought, whatever is the good o' keeping it when like 'nuff we can sell it for a pound or so and buy the chillern a few clothes against the winter." "True, true!" I said, trying to keep my excitement undermost. "But you would only get a few shillings for it, I am afraid. Such things have no market value." "No market value?" he answered. "Well, I suppose I dunnow much 't-al-'bout-et!" He mused for a few moments. I narrowly watched him out of half-closed eyes--"Oh, yes; I was playing the old grey wolf, sure enough"--and said, very carelessly: "I should hate drinking my ale out of a 'leather bottel.' They may look picturesque, but I am certain the beer would taste vile. I have no sympathy with the enthusiast who sang: "'And I wish in heaven his soul may dwell That first devised the leather bottel.' However, I would not mind giving you a few shillings for it." I happened to glance up as I said this. He sat there looking at me with a troubled expression in his blue eyes. He then said a number of things in broad Dorset, and the "tellees" and "thickees" and "dallees" became unintelligible, but he meant that I could but be joking when I said "a few shillings." "Well, I won't disturb your peace of mind any more," I said. "We will let the matter drop." Then he stepped up close to me, put the black jack in my hand, and said, with an appealing note in his voice: "Two hundred years in my family, maister. Just say what you've a-mind to give me; only let it be a fair price. I would not be so anxious to sell it, but my rent is a bit behind, and I shall have to sleep with Miss Green----" "Sleep with Miss Green?" I gasped, somewhat shocked. "Sleep under the hedge, then," he continued, making the expression clear to me. "Now, you see the fix I'm in, maister." Then I was ashamed. Deep shame covered me, and I had a great revulsion of feeling. How could I be so niggardly as to beat down this poor fellow's price? Perhaps, after all, it was his only possession of any value at all. I turned the jack over in my hands. It was strong and black and very highly polished with age--and the curves and proportions of it were exactly satisfying to the eye that looked upon it. It was a benediction of a flagon.... I held it up, and said, "How much?" "Aw! dally-buttons! Take it for two pounds," he said, "you nidden begridge me that." And he added, in passing, that two pounds made it a kind of gift to me--just a token to signify it had changed hands: it was an act of pure charity on his part. "Then," I said, "thirty shillings," and he waved his hand about genially, and remarked that it "twidden" be worth his while to stretch out his hand for such a paltry sum.