What wage is it, after all, for the years of a man's strength that now, with a few more years to live, he should lose it?"

"Have you done?"

Mr. Benny stood up. "I should never have done, sir, until you listened to me."

"You refuse to write the letter?"

"I humbly beg you, sir, not to ask me to write it."

"But I do ask you to write it."

Mr. Benny thrust both hands nervously beneath his coat-tails, walked to the window and stood for a second or two, staring out upon the garden.

His cheeks were flushed. He had arrived at one of those moments in life which prove a man; but of heroism he was not conscious at all.

"I am very sorry, Mr. Samuel," said he, turning again to the table.

"If your father had told me to write such a letter, I should have used an old servant's liberty and warned him that he was acting unjustly.

Though it made him angry, he would have understood. But I see, sir, that I have no right to argue with you; and so let us have no more words.

I cannot write what you wish."

"My father," answered Mr. Sam, wagging a finger at him, "tolerated many things I do not propose to tolerate. He suffered this old dotard to annoy the public, though long past work. I am not surprised to learn that he suffered you to forget your place."

Mr. Benny gathered up his papers without answering.

"Look here, Benny," Mr. Sam resumed, after watching him for a while, "I don't wish to be hard on you; I only require obedience. It's a bit foolish of you--eh?--to be quarrelling with your bread and b.u.t.ter."

"May be, sir."

"If you leave me, I wish it to be understood that 'tis by your own choice."

The little man met his master's eyes now with a look of something like contempt. "If that salves your conscience, sir, by all means have it so.

But if 'tis to be plain truth between us, you want a younger clerk."

"Did I ever complain of your incompetence?"

"My incompetence, sir? 'Tis my competence you surely mean? I reckon no man can be sure of being a good servant till he has learnt to advise for his master's good against his master's will."

"What's the matter with 'ee, Peter?" asked Nicky Vro as he rowed Mr. Benny across the ferry at dinnertime. "You're looking as downcast as a gib cat."

"I was wondering," answered Mr. Benny gently, "how many times we two have crossed this ferry together."

Nicky Vro pondered. "Now that's the sort o' question I leave alone o' set purpose, and I'll tell 'ee for why. One night, years ago, and just as we was off to bed, my poor wife says to me, 'I wonder how many times you've crossed the ferry, first and last.' 'Hundreds and thousands,' I says, just like _so_. She'd a-put the question in idleness, an' in idleness I answered it. Will you believe it?--between twelve and one in the morning I woke up with my head full o' figgers. Not another wink o' sleep could I get, neither. Soon as ever I shook up the bolster an' settled down for another try, I see'd myself whiskin' back and forth over this here piece o' water like a piston-rod in a steamship, and off I started countin' for dear life. Count? I tell you it lasted for nights, and by the end o' the week I had to see the doctor about it. I was losin' flesh. Doctor, he gave me a bottle o' trade--very flat-tasted stuff it was, price half a crown, with a sediment if you let it stand; and after a few days the trouble wore off. They tell me there's a new pupil teacher up to the school can answer questions like that while you're countin' his b.u.t.tons.

I've seen the fellow: a pigeon-chested poor creatur', with his calves put on the wrong way. I'd a mind to tell 'en that with figgers, as with other walks o' life, a man's first business is to look after his own.

But I didn't like to, he looked so harmless. Puttin' one thing with another, Peter Benny, I'd advise you to leave these speckilations alone.

Be it a thousand times or ten thousand, there's only one time that counts --the last; and only the Lord A'mighty knows when that'll be."

Mr. Benny sighed. "When the Lord sets a man free of his labour, Nicky, He does it gently. But we have to deal with an earthly master, we two, and his mercies aren't so gentle."

Nicky Vro nodded. "You'm thinkin' of they two poor souls up the hill.

A proper tyrant Mister Sam can be, and so I told that ugly-featured boy of his, when I put Mrs. Trevarthen across this mornin'. 'Twas a shame, too, to lose my temper with the cheeld; for a cat couldn't help laughin'-- supposin' he wasn't the partickler cat consarned." The old man told the story, chuckling wheezily.

"You went too far, Nicky. I have the best reasons for knowing that you went too far. Now listen to me. As soon as you get back, hitch up your boat, walk straight up to Hall, and tell Mr. Sam that you're sorry."

"Well, so I am in a way, though the fellow do turn my stomach.

Still there wasn' no sense in rappin' out on the boy."

"It doesn't help the old woman, you know," said Mr. Benny, and sighed again, bethinking himself how vain had been his own protest.

"Not a bit," a.s.sented Mr. Vro cheerfully. "Well, I'll go back and make it up with the varmint. I reckon he means to give me a bad few minutes; but 'tis foolish to quarrel when folks can't do without one another, and so I'll tell 'en."

Half an hour ago Mr. Benny had been a brave man, but as he neared his home a sudden cowardice seized him. It was not that he shirked breaking the news to his wife; nay, he fiercely desired to tell her, and get the worst over. But in imagination he saw the children seated around the table, all hungry as hunters for the meal which, under G.o.d's grace, he had never yet failed to earn; and the thought that they might soon hunger and not be fed, for a moment unmanned him. He hurried past the ope leading to his door. The dinner-hour's quiet rested on the little town, and there was no one in the street to observe him as he halted by the church-gate, half-minded to return. The gate stood open, and as he glanced up at the tower the clock there rang out its familiar chime. He pa.s.sed up the path, entered, and cast himself on his knees.

For half an hour he knelt, and, although he prayed but by fits and starts, by degrees peace grew within him and possessed his soul. He waited until the clock struck two--by which time the children would be back at school-- and walked resolutely homeward.

Mrs. Benny and Nuncey were alone in the kitchen, where the board had been cleared of all but the tablecloth and his own knife and fork. They cried out together upon his dilatoriness; but while his wife turned to fetch his dinner from the oven, Nuncey took a step forward, scanning his face.

"Father?"

He put out a hand as he dropped into his seat, and stared along the empty table.

"I am dismissed."

Mrs. Benny faced about, felt for a chair, and sat down trembling.

Nuncey took her father's hand.

"Tell us all about it," she commanded; and he told them.

His wife cast her ap.r.o.n over her head.

"But he'll take you back," she moaned. "If you go to 'en and ask 'en properly, he'll surely take you back!"

"Don't be foolish, mother." Nuncey laid a hand on her father's shoulder, and he looked up at her with br.i.m.m.i.n.g eyes. "'Tis Rosewarne that shall send to us before we go to him!"

She patted the tired shoulders, now bent again over the table.

"But what a brave little father it is, after all!"

CHAPTER XVIII.

RIGHT OF FERRY.

"What's the matter with Benny?" asked Nicky Vro as he rowed Hester across that evening. They were alone in the boat. "The man seemed queer in his manner this morning, like as if he was sickenin' for something, and this afternoon I han't seen fur nor feather of 'en." He dug away with his paddles, and resumed with a chuckle, after a dozen strokes, "The man hasn't been quarrellin' with his bread and b.u.t.ter, I hope? I went up to see Mr. Sam on a little business o' my own after dinner, and he fairly snapped my nose off--called me an impident old fool, and gave me the sack.

Iss fay, he did! I wasn't goin' to argue with the man. 'You'll think better o' this to-morrow,' I said, and with that I comed away.

Something must have occurred to put 'en out before he talked that nonsense to _me_."