she; 'let me have
my chains!' A strange girl, Mr. Cuff--good as gold, and kinder than a
sister to my Lucy--but always a little strange. There! I humoured her.
Three and sixpence. On the word of an honest woman, three and sixpence,
Mr. Cuff!"

"Each?" says the Sergeant.

"Both together!" says Mrs. Yolland. "Three and sixpence for the two."

"Given away, ma'am," says the Sergeant, shaking his head. "Clean given
away!"

"There's the money," says Mrs. Yolland, getting back sideways to the
little heap of silver on the table, as if it drew her in spite of
herself. "The tin case and the dog chains were all she bought, and all
she took away. One and ninepence and three and sixpence--total, five and
three. With my love and respects--and I can't find it in my conscience
to take a poor girl's savings, when she may want them herself."

"I can't find it in MY conscience, ma'am, to give the money back,"
says Sergeant Cuff. "You have as good as made her a present of the
things--you have indeed."

"Is that your sincere opinion, sir?" says Mrs. Yolland brightening up
wonderfully.

"There can't be a doubt about it," answered the Sergeant. "Ask Mr.
Betteredge."

It was no use asking ME. All they got out of ME was, "Good-night."

"Bother the money!" says Mrs. Yolland. With these words, she appeared to
lose all command over herself; and, making a sudden snatch at the heap
of silver, put it back, holus-bolus, in her pocket. "It upsets one's
temper, it does, to see it lying there, and nobody taking it," cries
this unreasonable woman, sitting down with a thump, and looking at
Sergeant Cuff, as much as to say, "It's in my pocket again now--get it
out if you can!"

This time, I not only went to the door, but went fairly out on the
road back. Explain it how you may, I felt as if one or both of them had
mortally offended me. Before I had taken three steps down the village, I
heard the Sergeant behind me.

"Thank you for your introduction, Mr. Betteredge," he said. "I am
indebted to the fisherman's wife for an entirely new sensation. Mrs.
Yolland has puzzled me."

It was on the tip of my tongue to have given him a sharp answer, for no
better reason than this--that I was out of temper with him, because I
was out of temper with myself. But when he owned to being puzzled, a
comforting doubt crossed my mind whether any great harm had been done
after all. I waited in discreet silence to hear more.

"Yes," says the Sergeant, as if he w