I met my good friend Jeremy Stickles, newly come in search of me. I took
him back to my little room--mine at least till to-morrow morning--and
told him all my story, and how much I felt aggrieved by it. But he
surprised me very much, by showing no surprise at all.

"It is the way of the world, Jack. They have gotten all they can from
thee, and why should they feed thee further? We feed not a dead pig, I
trow, but baste him well with brine and rue. Nay, we do not victual him
upon the day of killing; which they have done to thee. Thou art a lucky
man, John; thou hast gotten one day's wages, or at any rate half a day,
after thy work was rendered. God have mercy on me, John! The things I
see are manifold; and so is my regard of them. What use to insist on
this, or make a special point of that, or hold by something said of old,
when a different mood was on? I tell thee, Jack, all men are liars; and
he is the least one who presses not too hard on them for lying."

This was all quite dark to me, for I never looked at things like that,
and never would own myself a liar, not at least to other people, nor
even to myself, although I might to God sometimes, when trouble was upon
me. And if it comes to that, no man has any right to be called a "liar"
for smoothing over things unwitting, through duty to his neighbour.

"Five pounds thou shalt have, Jack," said Jeremy Stickles suddenly,
while I was all abroad with myself as to being a liar or not; "five
pounds, and I will take my chance of wringing it from that great rogue
Spank. Ten I would have made it, John, but for bad luck lately. Put back
your bits of paper, lad; I will have no acknowledgment. John Ridd, no
nonsense with me!"

For I was ready to kiss his hand, to think that any man in London (the
meanest and most suspicious place, upon all God's earth) should trust me
with five pounds, without even a receipt for it! It overcame me so that
I sobbed; for, after all, though big in body, I am but a child at heart.
It was not the five pounds that moved me, but the way of giving it; and
after so much bitter talk, the great trust in my goodness.

CHAPTER XXVII

HOME AGAIN AT LAST

[Illustration: 221.jpg Exmoor Hills]

It was the beginning of wheat-harvest, when I came to Dunster town,
having walked all the way from London, and being somewhat footsore. For
though five pounds was enough to keep me in food and lodging upon the
road, and leave me many a shilling to give to fa