d for lamps. Strong ale and trays of
tobacco went round, and while the glasses jingled and the smoke wreathed
upward, a song was sung:

"A man may spend
And God will send,
If his wife be good to owt;
But a man may spare
And still be bare,
If his wife be good to nowt."

Then blindman's buff. "Antony Blindman kens ta me, sen I bought butter
and cheese o' thee? I ga' tha my pot, I ga' tha my pan, I ga' all I had
but a rap ho' penny I gave a poor auld man."

Last of all, the creels were ranged round the hay-mows, and the floor
was cleared of everything except a beer-barrel. This was run into the
corner, and Tom o' Dint and fiddle were seated on top of it. Dancing was
interrupted only by drinking, until Tom's music began to be irregular,
whereupon Gubblum remonstrated; and then Tom, with the indignation of an
artist, broke the bridge of his fiddle on Gubblum's head, and Gubblum
broke the bridge of Tom's nose with his fist, and both rolled on to the
floor and lay there, until Gubblum extricated himself with difficulty,
shook his lachrymose noddle, and said:

"The laal man is as drunk as a fiddler."

The vicarage was quiet that night. All the guests save one were gone.
Parson Christian sat before the smoldering fire. Old Laird Fisher sat
with him. Neither spoke. They passed a long hour in silence.

_BOOK III._

THE DECLIVITY OF CRIME.

CHAPTER I.

A way-side hostelry, six miles from London, bearing its swinging sign of
the silver hawk and golden heron. It was a little, low-roofed place,
with a drinking-bar in front as you entered, and rooms opening from it
on either hand.

The door of the room to the left was shut. One could hear the voices of
children within, and sometimes a peal of their merry laughter. The room
to the right stood open to the bar. It was a smoky place, with a few
chairs, a long deal table, a bench with a back, a form against the wall,
pipes that hung on nails, and a rough beam across the low ceiling.

A big fire burned in an open grate on a hearth without a fender. In
front of it, coiled up in a huge chair like a canoe, that had a look of
having been hewn straight from the tree, sat the only occupant of the
room. The man wore a tweed suit of the indefinite pattern known as
pepper and salt. His hat was drawn heavily over his face to protect his
eyes from the glare of the fire-light. He gave satisfactory evidence
that he slept.

Under any light but t