elders and betters, you know; I was obliged to come when you sent for me.” 

 “Why, this is what I want—and just shake yourself sober and listen, will you?” said Godfrey, savagely. He had himself been drinking more than was good for him, trying to turn his gloom into uncalculating anger. “I want to tell you, I must hand over that rent of Fowler’s to the Squire, or else tell him I gave it you; for he’s threatening to distrain for it, and it’ll all be out soon, whether I tell him or not. He said, just now, before he went out, he should send word to Cox to distrain, if Fowler didn’t come and pay up his arrears this week. The Squire’s short o’ cash, and in no humour to stand any nonsense; and you know what he threatened, if ever he found you making away with his money again. So, see and get the money, and pretty quickly, will you?” 

 “Oh!” said Dunsey, sneeringly, coming nearer to his brother and looking in his face. “Suppose, now, you get the money yourself, and save me the trouble, eh? Since you was so kind as to hand it over to me, you’ll not refuse me the kindness to pay it back for me: it was your brotherly love made you do it, you know.” 

 Godfrey bit his lips and clenched his fist. “Don’t come near me with that look, else I’ll knock you down.” 

 “Oh no, you won’t,” said Dunsey, turning away on his heel, however. “Because I’m such a good-natured brother, you know. I might get you turned out of house and home, and cut off with a shilling any day. I might tell the Squire how his handsome son was married to that nice young woman, Molly Farren, and was very unhappy because he couldn’t live with his drunken wife, and I should slip into your place as comfortable as could be. But you see, I don’t do it—I’m so easy and good-natured. You’ll take any trouble for me. You’ll get the hundred pounds for me—I know you will.” 

 “How can I get the money?” said Godfrey, quivering. “I haven’t a shilling to bless myself with. And it’s a lie that you’d slip into my place: you’d get yourself turned out too, that’s all. For if you begin telling tales, I’ll follow. Bob’s my father’s favourite—you know that very well. He’d only think himself well rid of you.” 

 “Never mind,” said Dunsey, nodding his head sideways as he looked out of the window. “It ’ud be very pleasant to me to go in your company—you’re such a handsome brother, and we’ve always been so fond of quarrelling with one another, I shouldn’t know what to do without you. But you’d like better for us both to stay at home together; I know 

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