If Zeph don't bear no malice, there ain't much reason why we should. Anyhow, we might go and see whether what Zeph says is true or not."

And they did go, Sampson Sledge one of the first; and they found Anvil so different from what he had been, that they went on to say

"Well, Zeph was about right; and, anyhow, Andrew was a hard-workin' man, whilst he could work, and it do seem hard that such as him should come upon the parish just as he's got a chance of workin' hard agin, if he could only wait a bit."

By this time Andrew could get about a little, but otherwise there was no improvement in his circumstances. He was still very weak. His wife had sold almost everything that she could sell. Quarter-day was at hand, and no money was ready for the rent.

Hoity Toity went and had a quiet talk with Sampson Sledge, who had succeeded "the furriner" as master of the rival smithy. Sampson did not know who had been talking to him, because Hoity Toity had talked to him in his sleep. Whilst he was snoring like a rhinoceros, Sampson had dreamed

a dream, in which all kinds of things, new and old, were mixed up. Old Zeph was in the dream, and what Sampson remembered of it when he woke was old Zeph's having said to him, "Why can't ye be always friends?"

Sampson felt in a good temper when he woke, and went on to remember that old Zeph had said those very words ever so long ago-in the days when Sampson Sledge was a little boy, and Andrew Anvil a big boy, very fond of bullying him. Then he remembered exactly when it was Zeph had so spoken. Andrew had been teasing little Sampson, and little Sampson had picked up a jagged stone to throw at him. Whilst he was dodging to get out of the way of the stone, Andrew had tumbled backwards, and little Sampson had run to stir him up with his toe, crying out—

"Get up.

down."

I won't fling at ye whilst you're

Then old Zeph had made his appearance, and, when he had reconciled the boys, had gone away, saying

"Why can't ye be always friends?"

Directly after breakfast, Sampson started for Andrew Anvil's.

"Muster Anvil," he said, when he got there, "it's along o' me somehow that all this has come upon ye. I don't say it's all my fault, because it ain't, but I should like you to shake hands with me to show you don't bear me no more malice than I bear you."

"Well, there, now," cried Sampson, when the hands had gripped, "lookee here now, Muster Anvil. You've been a fust-rate smith, and you'll be a fust-rate smith agin, some day, when you've picked up your strength; and your smithy's where the country's work's been done I don't know how long; and I never fared comfortable in that little new-fangled furriner's shop. They say you've got to leave, and I should like to come back here; but I don't want folks to say that I've turned ye out, nor I don't want to neither, Muster Anvil. Lookee here, Muster Anvil, let's go partners, Muster Anvil. I'll manage with a boy till you're able to take your share of the work, and then we'll settle how we're to share the money."

It was somewhat galling to Andrew to be saved from the parish by the generosity of the ex-journeyman he had formerly snubbed, and, eventually, since he never became again the strong man he had been before his "accident"-Hoity Toity doesn't believe in "accidents "-to have to become, in fact, the "junior" partner of his younger fellow-craftsman; but Andrew was very grateful for the new chance of earning his own living Sampson had given him.

Andrew did not earn so much money as he had earned before, but hard-up fellow-villagers, who deserved to get it, got a good deal more from him than they had ever got before. He was not kotooed to as he had been in the days of his proud strength, but he was loved; and Hoity Toity thought that weak Andrew was far better off than strong Andrew. Andrew soon owned to Zephaniah Shears that he thought so too; and Mrs Anvil did not contradict him, which was equivalent, in her case, to a full confession of her being of the same opinion.

CHAPTER IV.

THE VILLAGE SCHOOL.

“JOHN

HN RUDDOCK, you bad, wicked boy, you're always fighting. Where do you expect to go to, sir?" said Dame Darnaway, who was the village schoolmistress.

minute, sir, and I'll warm you.

"Come here this

I'll larn ye to be

so fond of using your fists." And as she spoke, Dame Darnaway took down a huge new rod, nearly as big as a middle-sized birch-broom.

Dame Darnaway very often had a new rod, and before it could be rightly called an old one, it was quite worn out. Most of the poor old woman's little scholars were very unruly and very lazy, and she thought that the only way to make them mend their manners and mind their books was to whip them all round, like the old woman who lived in a shoe, and to keep on scolding them at the top of

E