ere one is
known, and I should be lost in a strange place. No; I daresay I
shall find a cottage there, and I shall manage to get a living
somehow--perhaps open a little shop like this, and then you can be
apprenticed, and live at home."

An hour later, Mrs. Ellison called. Reuben had gone upstairs to lie
down, for his leg was very painful. Mrs. Whitney did not give her
visitor time to begin.

"I know what you have called about, Mrs. Ellison, and I don't want
to talk about it with you. The squire has grievously wronged my
boy. I wouldn't have believed it of him, but he's done it; so now,
ma'm, I give a week's notice of this house, and here's my rent up
to that time, and I will send you the key when I go. And now, ma'm,
as I don't want any words about it, I think it will be better if
you go, at once."

Mrs. Ellison hesitated a moment. Never, from the time she entered
the village as the squire's wife, had she been thus spoken to; but
she saw at once, in Mrs. Whitney's face, that it were better not to
reply to her; and that her authority as the squire's wife had, for
once, altogether vanished. She therefore took up the money which
Mrs. Whitney had laid on the counter and, without a word, left the
shop.

"I do believe, William," she said as, greatly ruffled and
indignant, she gave an account of the interview to the squire,
"that the woman would have slapped my face, if I had said anything.
She is the most insolent creature I ever met."

"Well, my dear," the squire said seriously, "I can hardly wonder at
the poor woman's indignation. She has had a hard time of it, and
this must be a sad blow. Naturally she believes in her son's
innocence, and we must not altogether blame her, if she resents his
dismissal. It's a sad business altogether, and I know it will be a
worry and trouble to me for months. Mind, I don't doubt that the
boy did it; it does not seem possible that it should be otherwise.
Still, it is not absolutely proved; and upon my word, I wish now I
had said nothing at all about it. I like the boy, and I liked his
father before him; and as this story must get about, it cannot but
do him serious damage. Altogether it is a most tiresome business,
and I would give a hundred pounds if it hadn't taken place."

"I really do not see why you should worry about it, William. The
boy has always been a troublesome boy, and perhaps this lesson may
do him good."

The squire did not attempt to argue the question. He felt re