“It’s my dog, sir,” said the ready Bob. “An’ it’s me as put Mr Tom up to the bit o’ business; for Mr Tom’s been a friend o’ mine iver since I was a little chap; fust thing iver I did was frightenin’ the birds for th’ old master. An’ if a bit o’ luck turns up, I’m allays thinkin’ if I can let Mr Tom have a pull at it. An’ it’s a downright roarin’ shame, as when he’s got the chance o’ making a bit o’ money wi’ sending goods out,—ten or twelve per zent clear, when freight an’ commission’s paid,—as he shouldn’t lay hold o’ the chance for want o’ money. An’ when there’s the Laceham goods,—lors! they’re made o’ purpose for folks as want to send out a little carguy; light, an’ take up no room,—you may pack twenty pound so as you can’t see the passill; an’ they’re manifacturs as please fools, so I reckon they aren’t like to want a market. An’ I’d go to Laceham an’ buy in the goods for Mr Tom along wi’ my own. An’ there’s the shupercargo o’ the bit of a vessel as is goin’ to take ’em out. I know him partic’lar; he’s a solid man, an’ got a family i’ the town here. Salt, his name is,—an’ a briny chap he is too,—an’ if you don’t believe me, I can take you to him.” Uncle Glegg stood open-mouthed with astonishment at this unembarrassed loquacity, with which his understanding could hardly keep pace. He looked at Bob, first over his spectacles, then through them, then over them again; while Tom, doubtful of his uncle’s impression, began to wish he had not brought this singular Aaron, or mouthpiece. Bob’s talk appeared less seemly, now some one besides himself was listening to it. “You seem to be a knowing fellow,” said Mr Glegg, at last. “Ay, sir, you say true,” returned Bob, nodding his head aside; “I think my head’s all alive inside like an old cheese, for I’m so full o’ plans, one knocks another over. If I hadn’t Mumps to talk to, I should get top-heavy an’ tumble in a fit. I suppose it’s because I niver went to school much. That’s what I jaw my old mother for. I says, ‘You should ha’ sent me to school a bit more,’ I says, ‘an’ then I could ha’ read i’ the books like fun, an’ kep’ my head cool an’ empty.’ Lors, she’s fine an’ comfor’ble now, my old mother is; she ates her baked meat an’ taters as often as she likes. For I’m gettin’ so full o’ money, I must hev a wife to spend it for me. But it’s botherin,’ a wife is,—and Mumps mightn’t like her.” Uncle Glegg, who regarded himself as a jocose man since he had retired from business, was beginning to find Bob amusing, but he had still a disapproving observation to make, which kept his face serious. “Ah,” he said, “I should think you’re at a loss for ways o’ spending your money, else you wouldn’t keep that big dog, to eat as much as two Christians. It’s shameful—shameful!” But he spoke more in sorrow than in anger, and quickly added: