ter Stickles! Every farthing we have in the world, and the labour of
our lives to boot, will never make good the tenth of it.'

'It would cut me to the heart,' he answered, laying his hand on mine,
'to hear of such a deadly blow to you and your good mother. And this
farm; how long, John, has it been in your family?'

'For at least six hundred years,' I said, with a foolish pride that was
only too like to end in groans; 'and some people say, by a Royal grant,
in the time of the great King Alfred. At any rate, a Ridd was with him
throughout all his hiding-time. We have always held by the King and
crown: surely none will turn us out, unless we are guilty of treason?'

'My son,' replied Jeremy very gently, so that I could love him for
it, 'not a word to your good mother of this unlucky matter. Keep it to
yourself, my boy, and try to think but little of it. After all, I may be
wrong: at any rate, least said best mended.'

'But Jeremy, dear Jeremy, how can I bear to leave it so? Do you suppose
that I can sleep, and eat my food, and go about, and look at other
people, as if nothing at all had happened? And all the time have it on
my mind, that not an acre of all the land, nor even our old sheep-dog,
belongs to us, of right at all! It is more than I can do, Jeremy. Let me
talk, and know the worst of it.'

'Very well,' replied Master Stickles, seeing that both the doors were
closed; 'I thought that nothing could move you, John; or I never would
have told you. Likely enough I am quite wrong; and God send that I be
so. But what I guessed at some time back seems more than a guess, now
that you have told me about these wondrous jewels. Now will you keep, as
close as death, every word I tell you?'

'By the honour of a man, I will. Until you yourself release me.'

'That is quite enough, John. From you I want no oath; which, according
to my experience, tempts a man to lie the more, by making it more
important. I know you now too well to swear you, though I have the
power. Now, my lad, what I have to say will scare your mind in one way,
and ease it in another. I think that you have been hard pressed--I can
read you like a book, John--by something which that old villain said,
before he stole the necklace. You have tried not to dwell upon it; you
have even tried to make light of it for the sake of the women: but on
the whole it has grieved you more than even this dastard robbery.'

'It would have done so, Jeremy Stickles, if I coul