fit to himself. Among his secret wares were
also immoral songs, and impure and infidel books, for which he had many
eager buyers, especially in such places as Bridgepath. He had his
regular rounds, and his special customers, and was in the habit of
attending all the feasts and fairs for many miles round.

It need hardly be said that poor Ruby knew nothing and cared nothing
about better things; his heart was wholly in the world, and in making
money as fast as he could, by hook or by crook,--and in this he was
succeeding. For though the poor man and his wife were utterly godless,
and even profane, yet Ruby was no drunkard; he loved his glass, it is
true, but he loved money more, and so he always contrived to keep a
clear head and a steady eye and hand. He also took good care of his
horse and dog for his own sake, as he wanted to make the best and the
longest of their services, and was shrewd enough to know that you cannot
get out of anything, whether animate or inanimate, more than is put into
it. So self and wife, and horse and dog were all well fed and cared
for, and worked harmoniously together.

This was the man to whom the poor drunkard pointed his pipe and
sneeringly invited Horace Jackson to try and do him good. The young man
shrunk at first instinctively from coming in contact with old Reuben.
Surely there was abundance of self-denying work in looking after the
inhabitants of the hamlet itself; why then need he concern himself about
a man who was only a passer through, and had no special claim on his
attention? Half-satisfied with these thoughts, Horace Jackson was about
to proceed homewards, when it seemed to him that a voice, as it were,
said within him, "Accept the work; it may not be in vain." Though still
reluctant, he now felt that he could no longer hang back; so he crossed
the green, and greeted the old hawker kindly.

Ruby looked up at him with a comical twinkle in his one eye, and,
knocking out the ashes from his pipe, observed, "So you be the young
gent as is turning all things topsy-turvy in this here village--you and
the colonel between you. I've heard all about it; and a precious mess
you'll make of it, I doubt."

"My friend," said Horace, now perfectly relieved from all feeling of
disinclination to encounter the old man, "you make a little mistake
there: when we came here we _found_ things topsy-turvy already, and we
are just trying, by God's help, to set them upright and straight."

"