re.

'I'd recommend you, in return,' said Joe, looking up with a flushed
face, 'not to talk to me.'

'Hold your tongue, sir,' cried Mr Willet, suddenly rousing himself, and
turning round.

'I won't, father,' cried Joe, smiting the table with his fist, so that
the jugs and glasses rung again; 'these things are hard enough to bear
from you; from anybody else I never will endure them any more. Therefore
I say, Mr Cobb, don't talk to me.'

'Why, who are you,' said Mr Cobb, sneeringly, 'that you're not to be
talked to, eh, Joe?'

To which Joe returned no answer, but with a very ominous shake of the
head, resumed his old position, which he would have peacefully preserved
until the house shut up at night, but that Mr Cobb, stimulated by the
wonder of the company at the young man's presumption, retorted with
sundry taunts, which proved too much for flesh and blood to bear.
Crowding into one moment the vexation and the wrath of years, Joe
started up, overturned the table, fell upon his long enemy, pummelled
him with all his might and main, and finished by driving him with
surprising swiftness against a heap of spittoons in one corner; plunging
into which, head foremost, with a tremendous crash, he lay at full
length among the ruins, stunned and motionless. Then, without waiting to
receive the compliments of the bystanders on the victory he had won, he
retreated to his own bedchamber, and considering himself in a state
of siege, piled all the portable furniture against the door by way of
barricade.

'I have done it now,' said Joe, as he sat down upon his bedstead and
wiped his heated face. 'I knew it would come at last. The Maypole and
I must part company. I'm a roving vagabond--she hates me for
evermore--it's all over!'

Chapter 31

Pondering on his unhappy lot, Joe sat and listened for a long time,
expecting every moment to hear their creaking footsteps on the stairs,
or to be greeted by his worthy father with a summons to capitulate
unconditionally, and deliver himself up straightway. But neither voice
nor footstep came; and though some distant echoes, as of closing doors
and people hurrying in and out of rooms, resounding from time to time
through the great passages, and penetrating to his remote seclusion,
gave note of unusual commotion downstairs, no nearer sound disturbed his
place of retreat, which seemed the quieter for these far-off noises, and
was as dull and full of gloom as any hermit's cell.

It c