a
quibble of pride? Down, down with his rebellious spirit! Let him be a
man in the sight of Heaven!

He turned to John Massingbird, his brow clear, his eye serene. "I will
take it, and thank you," he said in a steady, cheerful tone.

"Then let's have some grog on the strength of it," was that gentleman's
answer. "Tynn says the worry nearly took my mother's life out of her
during the time she managed the estate; and it would take it out of
mine. If I kept it in my own hands, it would go to the dogs in a
twelvemonth. And you'd not thank me for that, Lionel. You are the next
heir."

"You may take a wife yet."

"A wife for me!" he shouted. "No, thank you. I know the value of 'em too
well for that. Give me my liberty, and you may have the wives. Lionel,
the office had better be in the study as it used to be: you can come up
here of a day. I'll turn the drawing-room into my smoke-shop. If there
are any leases or other deeds missing, you must get them drawn out
again. I'm glad it's settled."

Lionel declined the grog; but he remained on, talking things over. John
Massingbird sat in a cloud of smoke, drinking Lionel's share as well as
his own, and listening to the rain, which had begun to patter against
the window-panes.

CHAPTER LXXIV.

GOING TO NEW JERUSALEM ON A WHITE DONKEY.

And now we must pay a visit to Mrs. Peckaby; for great events were
happening to her on that night.

When Lionel met her in the day, seated on the stump, all disconsolate,
she had thrown out a hint that Mr. Peckaby was not habitually in quite
so social a mood as he might be. The fact was, Peckaby's patience had
run out; and little wonder, either. The man's meals made ready for him
in any careless way, often not made ready at all, and his wife spending
her time in sighing, and moaning, and looking out for the white donkey!
You, my readers, may deem this a rather far-fetched episode in the
story; you may deem it next to impossible that any woman should be so
ridiculously foolish, or could be so imposed upon; but I am only
relating to you the strict truth. The facts occurred precisely as they
are being narrated, and not long ago. I have neither added to the story
nor taken from it.

Mrs. Peckaby finished out her sitting on the stump under the gray skies.
The skies were grayer when she rose to go home. She found on her arrival
that Peckaby had been in to his tea, that is, he had been in, hoping to
partake of that social meal; but findi