ly too quickly did he recognise these men, who looked like
diggers but behaved so strangely; but the sight of the liquor was almost
more than he could bear, yet not daring to stir a finger lest he should
be discovered he was forced to see them drink it.

Indeed, they made quite a meal; eating bread and cheese, which they
washed down with their favourite beverage. When the bottles were empty,
Dolphin flung them into the bushes opposite to him, and the missiles,
shivering into hundreds of pieces, sprinkled the goldsmith with broken
glass.

He stifled a wordy protest which rose to his lips, and lay still; and
shortly afterwards he had the pleasure of seeing the undesirable
strangers hump their "swags" and retrace their steps towards Timber
Town.

When they had disappeared, Tresco came from his hiding-place. He looked
up and down the track. "Just so," he soliloquised, "half-a-mile this
way, a mile that. Good cover.... Commanding position. What's their
little game? It seems to me that there are bigger rascals than Benjamin
in Timber Town." And with this salve applied to his conscience, the
goldsmith pursued his way towards his dismal cavern.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

The Goldsmith Comes to Town the Second Time.

Tresco stood in the yellow light of the paraffin lamp, and gazed in
wonderment at Gentle Annie. He was a tattered and mournful object; his
boots worn out, his trousers a marvel of patchwork, his coat a thing
discoloured and torn, his hair and beard unshorn, himself a being
unrecognisable by his former friends.

Gentle Annie's attitude betokened the greatest surprise. With her hands
on her bosom, her lips parted, her cheeks pale, her eyes frightened, she
stood, and timidly returned the gaze of the strange man before her.

"What do you want?" she asked, so soon as she could find her voice. "Why
do you come here?"

"Don't be alarmed," said Benjamin reassuringly. "First, let me tell you
that I'm your friend and protector. Do you forget Tresco the goldsmith?"

Gentle Annie gave vent to a little cry of astonishment.

"I am an outlaw,"--he spoke as if he were defending himself before his
peers--"an outcast, a hunted dog. My own house is unsafe, so I came here
for protection and a little comfort." He dropped suddenly into quite a
sentimental tone of voice. "I haven't spoken to a soul, save my lad, for
over six weeks. I'm a bit lonesome and miserable; and I badly need a
well-cooked meal."

"But if you stop here