clothes as good as new, I'll sell my new red cloak sooner than yo'
shall go unpaid.'

'A reckon it's a bargain,' said Harry, casting sharp, professional
eyes on the heap before him, and singling out the best article as to
texture for examination and comment.

'They're all again these metal buttons,' said he. 'Silk weavers has
been petitioning Ministers t' make a law to favour silk buttons; and
I did hear tell as there were informers goin' about spyin' after
metal buttons, and as how they could haul yo' before a justice for
wearing on 'em.'

'A were wed in 'em, and a'll wear 'em to my dyin' day, or a'll wear
noane at a'. They're for making such a pack o' laws, they'll be for
meddling wi' my fashion o' sleeping next, and taxing me for ivery
snore a give. They've been after t' winders, and after t' vittle,
and after t' very saut to 't; it's dearer by hauf an' more nor it
were when a were a boy: they're a meddlesome set o' folks,
law-makers is, an' a'll niver believe King George has ought t' do
wi' 't. But mark my words; I were wed wi' brass buttons, and brass
buttons a'll wear to my death, an' if they moither me about it, a'll
wear brass buttons i' my coffin!'

By this time Harry had arranged a certain course of action with Mrs
Robson, conducting the consultation and agreement by signs. His
thread was flying fast already, and the mother and daughter felt
more free to pursue their own business than they had done for
several days; for it was a good sign that Daniel had taken his pipe
out of the square hollow in the fireside wall, where he usually kept
it, and was preparing to diversify his remarks with satisfying
interludes of puffing.

'Why, look ye; this very baccy had a run for 't. It came ashore
sewed up neatly enough i' a woman's stays, as was wife to a
fishing-smack down at t' bay yonder. She were a lean thing as iver
you saw, when she went for t' see her husband aboard t' vessel; but
she coom back lustier by a deal, an' wi' many a thing on her, here
and theere, beside baccy. An' that were i' t' face o' coast-guard
and yon tender, an' a'. But she made as though she were tipsy, an'
so they did nought but curse her, an' get out on her way.'

'Speaking of t' tender, there's been a piece o' wark i' Monkshaven
this week wi' t' press-gang,' said Harry.

'Ay! ay! our lass was telling about 't; but, Lord bless ye! there's
no gettin' t' rights on a story out on a woman--though a will say
this for our Sylvie, she's as