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to be kept from me?” said Mrs. Glegg, who, solicited by a double curiosity, was obliged to let the one-half wait.

      “A little plan o’ nephey Tom’s here,” said good-natured Mr. Glegg; “and not altogether a bad ’un, I think. A little plan for making money; that’s the right sort o’ plan for young folks as have got their fortin to make, eh, Jane?”

      “But I hope it isn’t a plan where he expects iverything to be done for him by his friends; that’s what the young folks think of mostly nowadays. And pray, what has this packman got to do wi’ what goes on in our family? Can’t you speak for yourself, Tom, and let your aunt know things, as a nephey should?”

      “This is Bob Jakin, aunt,” said Tom, bridling the irritation that aunt Glegg’s voice always produced. “I’ve known him ever since we were little boys. He’s a very good fellow, and always ready to do me a kindness. And he has had some experience in sending goods out,—a small part of a cargo as a private speculation; and he thinks if I could begin to do a little in the same way, I might make some money. A large interest is got in that way.”

      “Large int’rest?” said aunt Glegg, with eagerness; “and what do you call large int’rest?”

      “Ten or twelve per cent, Bob says, after expenses are paid.”

      “Then why wasn’t I let to know o’ such things before, Mr. Glegg?” said Mrs. Glegg, turning to her husband, with a deep grating tone of reproach. “Haven’t you allays told me as there was no getting more nor five per cent?”

      “Pooh, pooh, nonsense, my good woman,” said Mr. Glegg. “You couldn’t go into trade, could you? You can’t get more than five per cent with security.”

      “But I can turn a bit o’ money for you, an’ welcome, mum,” said Bob, “if you’d like to risk it,—not as there’s any risk to speak on. But if you’d a mind to lend a bit o’ money to Mr. Tom, he’d pay you six or seven per zent, an’ get a trifle for himself as well; an’ a good-natur’d lady like you ’ud like the feel o’ the money better if your nephey took part on it.”

      “What do you say, Mrs. G.?” said Mr. Glegg. “I’ve a notion, when I’ve made a bit more inquiry, as I shall perhaps start Tom here with a bit of a nest-egg,—he’ll pay me int’rest, you know,—an’ if you’ve got some little sums lyin’ idle twisted up in a stockin’ toe, or that——”

      “Mr. Glegg, it’s beyond iverything! You’ll go and give information to the tramps next, as they may come and rob me.”

      “Well, well, as I was sayin’, if you like to join me wi’ twenty pounds, you can—I’ll make it fifty. That’ll be a pretty good nest-egg, eh, Tom?”

      “You’re not counting on me, Mr. Glegg, I hope,” said his wife. “You could do fine things wi’ my money, I don’t doubt.”

      “Very well,” said Mr. Glegg, rather snappishly, “then we’ll do without you. I shall go with you to see this Salt,” he added, turning to Bob.

      “And now, I suppose, you’ll go all the other way, Mr. Glegg,” said Mrs. G., “and want to shut me out o’ my own nephey’s business. I never said I wouldn’t put money into it,—I don’t say as it shall be twenty pounds, though you’re so ready to say it for me,—but he’ll see some day as his aunt’s in the right not to risk the money she’s saved for him till it’s proved as it won’t be lost.”

      “Ay, that’s a pleasant sort o’risk, that is,” said Mr. Glegg, indiscreetly winking at Tom, who couldn’t avoid smiling. But Bob stemmed the injured lady’s outburst.

      “Ay, mum,” he said admiringly, “you know what’s what—you do. An’ it’s nothing but fair. You see how the first bit of a job answers, an’ then you’ll come down handsome. Lors, it’s a fine thing to hev good kin. I got my bit of a nest-egg, as the master calls it, all by my own sharpness,—ten suvreigns it was,—wi’ dousing the fire at Torry’s mill, an’ it’s growed an’ growed by a bit an’ a bit, till I’n got a matter o’ thirty pound to lay out, besides makin’ my mother comfor’ble. I should get more, on’y I’m such a soft wi’ the women,—I can’t help lettin’ ’em hev such good bargains. There’s this bundle, now,” thumping it lustily, “any other chap ’ud make a pretty penny out on it. But me!—lors, I shall sell ’em for pretty near what I paid for ’em.”

      “Have you got a bit of good net, now?” said Mrs. Glegg, in a patronizing tone, moving from the tea-table, and folding her napkin.

      “Eh, mum, not what you’d think it worth your while to look at. I’d scorn to show it you. It ’ud be an insult to you.”

      “But let me see,” said Mrs. Glegg, still patronizing. “If they’re damaged goods, they’re like enough to be a bit the better quality.”

      “No, mum, I know my place,” said Bob, lifting up his pack and shouldering it. “I’m not going t’ expose the lowness o’ my trade to a lady like you. Packs is come down i’ the world; it ’ud cut you to th’ heart to see the difference. I’m at your sarvice, sir, when you’ve a mind to go and see Salt.”

      “All in good time,” said Mr. Glegg, really unwilling to cut short the dialogue. “Are you wanted at the wharf, Tom?”

      “No, sir; I left Stowe in my place.”

      “Come, put down your pack, and let me see,” said Mrs. Glegg, drawing a chair to the window and seating herself with much dignity.

      “Don’t you ask it, mum,” said Bob, entreatingly.

      “Make no more words,” said Mrs. Glegg, severely, “but do as I tell you.”

      “Eh mum, I’m loth, that I am,” said Bob, slowly depositing his pack on the step, and beginning to untie it with unwilling fingers. “But what you order shall be done” (much fumbling in pauses between the sentences). “It’s not as you’ll buy a single thing on me,—I’d be sorry for you to do it,—for think o’ them poor women up i’ the villages there, as niver stir a hundred yards from home,—it ’ud be a pity for anybody to buy up their bargains. Lors, it’s as good as a junketing to ’em when they see me wi’ my pack, an’ I shall niver pick up such bargains for ’em again. Least ways, I’ve no time now, for I’m off to Laceham. See here now,” Bob went on, becoming rapid again, and holding up a scarlet woollen Kerchief with an embroidered wreath in the corner; “here’s a thing to make a lass’s mouth water, an’ on’y two shillin’—an’ why? Why, ’cause there’s a bit of a moth-hole ’i this plain end. Lors, I think the moths an’ the mildew was sent by Providence o’ purpose to cheapen the goods a bit for the good-lookin’ women as han’t got much money. If it hadn’t been for the moths, now, every hankicher on ’em ’ud ha’ gone to the rich, handsome ladies, like you, mum, at five shillin’ apiece,—not a farthin’ less; but what does the moth do? Why, it nibbles off three shillin’ o’ the price i’ no time; an’ then a packman like me can carry ’t to the poor lasses as live under the dark thack, to make a bit of a blaze for ’em. Lors, it’s as good as a fire, to look at such a hankicher!”

      Bob held it at a distance for admiration, but Mrs. Glegg said sharply:

      “Yes, but nobody wants a fire this time o’ year. Put these colored things by; let me look at your nets, if you’ve got ’em.”

      “Eh, mum, I told you how it ’ud be,” said Bob, flinging aside the colored things with an air of desperation. “I knowed it ud’ turn again’ you to look at such paltry articles as I carry. Here’s a piece o’ figured muslin now, what’s the use o’ you lookin’ at it? You might as well look at poor folks’s victual, mum; it ’ud on’y take away your appetite. There’s a yard i’ the middle on’t as the pattern’s all missed,—lors, why, it’s a muslin as the Princess Victoree might ha’ wore; but,” added Bob, flinging it behind him on to the turf, as if to save Mrs. Glegg’s eyes, “it’ll be bought up by the huckster’s

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