Mr Tappertit, who was not in the best of humours, and who disliked Miss
Miggs more when she laid her hand on her heart and panted for breath
than at any other time, as her deficiency of outline was most apparent
under such circumstances, eyed her over in his loftiest style, and
deigned to express no curiosity whatever.

'I never heard the like, nor nobody else,' pursued Miggs. 'The idea of
interfering with HER. What people can see in her to make it worth their
while to do so, that's the joke--he he he!'

Finding there was a lady in the case, Mr Tappertit haughtily requested
his fair friend to be more explicit, and demanded to know what she meant
by 'her.'

'Why, that Dolly,' said Miggs, with an extremely sharp emphasis on the
name. 'But, oh upon my word and honour, young Joseph Willet is a brave
one; and he do deserve her, that he do.'

'Woman!' said Mr Tappertit, jumping off the counter on which he was
seated; 'beware!'

'My stars, Simmun!' cried Miggs, in affected astonishment. 'You frighten
me to death! What's the matter?'

'There are strings,' said Mr Tappertit, flourishing his bread-and-cheese
knife in the air, 'in the human heart that had better not be wibrated.
That's what's the matter.'

'Oh, very well--if you're in a huff,' cried Miggs, turning away.

'Huff or no huff,' said Mr Tappertit, detaining her by the wrist. 'What
do you mean, Jezebel? What were you going to say? Answer me!'

Notwithstanding this uncivil exhortation, Miggs gladly did as she was
required; and told him how that their young mistress, being alone in
the meadows after dark, had been attacked by three or four tall men, who
would have certainly borne her away and perhaps murdered her, but for
the timely arrival of Joseph Willet, who with his own single hand put
them all to flight, and rescued her; to the lasting admiration of his
fellow-creatures generally, and to the eternal love and gratitude of
Dolly Varden.

'Very good,' said Mr Tappertit, fetching a long breath when the tale was
told, and rubbing his hair up till it stood stiff and straight on end
all over his head. 'His days are numbered.'

'Oh, Simmun!'

'I tell you,' said the 'prentice, 'his days are numbered. Leave me. Get
along with you.'

Miggs departed at his bidding, but less because of his bidding than
because she desired to chuckle in secret. When she had given vent to
her satisfaction, she returned to the parlour; where the locksmith,
stimulated by quietness a