nd me," repeated Jonathan doggedly; "and
now I'll try you. Do you think this world is fair?"

"Fair and false!" quoth Mr. Archer.

The old man laughed immoderately. "Good," said he, "very good, but what
I mean is this: do you know what it is to get up early and go to bed
late, and never take so much as a holiday but four: and one of these
your own marriage day, and the other three the funerals of folk you
loved, and all that, to have a quiet old age in shelter, and bread for
your old belly, and a bed to lay your crazy bones upon, with a clear
conscience?"

"Sir," said Mr. Archer with an inclination of his head, "you portray a
very brave existence."

"Well," continued Jonathan, "and in the end thieves deceive you, thieves
rob and rook you, thieves turn you out in your old age and send you
begging. What have you got for all your honesty? A fine return! You that
might have stole scores of pounds, there you are out in the rain with
your rheumatics!"

Mr. Archer had forgotten to eat; with his hand upon his chin he was
studying the old man's countenance. "And you conclude?" he asked.

"Conclude!" cried Jonathan. "I conclude I'll be upsides with them."

"Ay," said the other, "we are all tempted to revenge."

"You have lost money?" asked Jonathan.

"A great estate," said Archer quietly.

"See now!" says Jonathan, "and where is it?"

"Nay, I sometimes think that every one has had his share of it but me,"
was the reply. "All England hath paid his taxes with my patrimony: I was
a sheep that left my wool on every briar."

"And you sit down under that?" cried the old man. "Come now, Mr. Archer,
you and me belong to different stations; and I know mine--no man
better,--but since we have both been rooked, and are both sore with it,
why, here's my hand with a very good heart, and I ask for yours, and no
offence, I hope."

"There is surely no offence, my friend," returned Mr. Archer, as they
shook hands across the table; "for, believe me, my sympathies are quite
acquired to you. This life is an arena where we fight with beasts; and,
indeed," he added, sighing, "I sometimes marvel why we go down to it
unarmed."

In the meanwhile a creaking of ungreased axles had been heard descending
through the wood; and presently after, the door opened, and the tall
ostler entered the kitchen carrying one end of Mr. Archer's trunk. The
other was carried by an aged beggar man of that district, known and
welcome for some twenty miles abo