shouted his comrades.

"Bring him back," said some.

"Let him go," said the others.

Tom did not heed their talk, but directed his steps towards uncle
Rougeant's farm-house.

He opened the door, walked straight in, and seated himself in a
chair near the long bare table, without saying a word to his uncle.

The latter was in a dreadful state of mental excitement. He was
walking up and down the room with his hands thrust deeply into his
trousers' pockets, uttering execrations, blaming everyone and
everything. He was so occupied with his ravings that he only cast a
glance at his nephew, who stood, or rather sat, wondering what the
dickens his uncle was about.

"Ah, this generation," said the farmer, "this generation is a mass of
spoilt and pampered dolls"--he was thinking of his daughter--"they
only think about running here and there; paying visits to friends,
taking tea with cousins, or walks with dressed-up mashers.

"They do not care if they leave a poor old devil"--the appellation
was appropriate enough--"all alone, with not even a dog to keep him
company or a cat which he could kick; off they go, dressed in the
garments for which you have paid out of your own pockets; ay, and
for which you have toiled and perspired----"

"You're quite right, uncle," came from Tom.

The farmer gave a sudden start. He had altogether forgotten his
nephew's presence. He went on:--"People are as proud as if they were
all of blood royal. Even the poorest women, one sees pass in the
afternoon with perambulators in which sleeps some little urchin who,
mayhap, is brought up nearly all on the charity of saving people
like me.

"It's a curse to have to pay taxes for this vermin. I say it's a
downright injustice to make us, who attach ten times more value to a
penny than they do, pay for the education of their brats.

"Ah! in my time, in the good old time, which is alas, gone for ever,
we, the respectable people, were rolled about in clumsy little
wooden carts, and the children of the labourers were carried in
their mother's arms and placed between two bundles of ferns, while
their mother went about her work. For, poor women went to work in
those days. Ay! they had to do it or starve. But now, what do we
see? These labourers' wives with servants."

He stamped, his foot impatiently. "And when they are destitute and
homeless from sheer want of foresight, they are kept and fed out of
the taxes which come out of our pockets. So-called