tired of that matter.

'Zettle the pralimbinaries,' spoke Farmer Snowe, on appeal from us,
'virst zettle the pralimbinaries; and then us knows what be drivin' at.'

'Preliminaries be damned, sir,' cried Uncle Ben, losing his temper.
'What preliminaries were there when I was robbed; I should like to know?
Robbed in this parish as I can prove, to the eternal disgrace of Oare
and the scandal of all England. And I hold this parish to answer for it,
sir; this parish shall make it good, being a nest of foul thieves as it
is; ay, farmers, and yeomen, and all of you. I will beggar every man
in this parish, if they be not beggars already, ay, and sell your old
church up before your eyes, but what I will have back my tarlatan,
time-piece, saddle, and dove-tailed nag.'

Mother looked at me, and I looked at Farmer Snowe, and we all were sorry
for Master Huckaback, putting our hands up one to another, that nobody
should browbeat him; because we all knew what our parish was, and none
the worse for strong language, however rich the man might be. But Uncle
Ben took it in a different way. He thought that we all were afraid of
him, and that Oare parish was but as Moab or Edom, for him to cast his
shoe over.

'Nephew Jack,' he cried, looking at me when I was thinking what to say,
and finding only emptiness, 'you are a heavy lout, sir; a bumpkin, a
clodhopper; and I shall leave you nothing, unless it be my boots to
grease.'

'Well, uncle,' I made answer, 'I will grease your boots all the same for
that, so long as you be our guest, sir.'

Now, that answer, made without a thought, stood me for two thousand
pounds, as you shall see, by-and-by, perhaps.

'As for the parish,' my mother cried, being too hard set to contain
herself, 'the parish can defend itself, and we may leave it to do so.
But our Jack is not like that, sir; and I will not have him spoken of.
Leave him indeed! Who wants you to do more than to leave him alone, sir;
as he might have done you the other night; and as no one else would
have dared to do. And after that, to think so meanly of me, and of my
children!'

'Hoity, toity, Sarah! Your children, I suppose, are the same as other
people's.'

'That they are not; and never will be; and you ought to know it, Uncle
Reuben, if any one in the world ought. Other people's children!'

'Well, well!' Uncle Reuben answered, 'I know very little of children;
except my little Ruth, and she is nothing wonderful.'

'I never said