ooked in through the barcasement to say:--"You go
_there_, Wix, and back to gaol you go! I only tell you." And retired,
leaving the convict knitting tighter the perplexed scowl on his face. He
called after her:--"Come back here, you Juliar!"

"I can hear you."

"What the Devil do you mean?"

"Can't you see for yourself? This woman don't want the boy to get fifty
pound. If I was in her shoes, I shouldn't neither." Micky only heard
this imperfectly.

"You wouldn't do anything under a hundred, _you_ wouldn't. Good job for
me they don't double the amount.... Easy does it, Juliar--only a bit of
my fun!" For Miss Hawkins, even as a woman stung by a cruel insult, had
shown her flashing eyes, heightened colour, and panting bosom at the
bar-opening as before. Mr. Wix seemed gratified. "Pity you don't flare
up oftener, Juliar," said he. "You've no idea what a much better woman
you look. Damn it, but you _do_!"

The woman made an effort, and choked her anger. "God forgive you, Wix!"
said she, and fell back out of sight. Michael thought he heard her sob.
He was not too young to understand this little drama, which took less
time to act than to tell.

The convict had lost the thread of his examination, and had to hark
back. _Why_ was it, Mrs. Prichard had gone away into the country?... Oh,
the house had fallen down, had it? But, then, how came Mrs. Wardle to be
living in it still? Because, said Michael, it was only the wall fell off
of the front, and now Mr. Bartlett he'd made all that good, and Mrs.
Prichard was only kep' out by the damp. Did Mrs. Wardle _really_ not
know where Mrs. Prichard was? She had not told Michael, that was all he
could say. Old Mo he'd never slept out of the house, only the family.
And they was coming back soon now. Was old Mo an invalid, who never went
out? "No fear!" said Michael. "He's all to rights, only a bit oldish,
like. He spends the afternoons round at The Sun, and then goes home to
supper." The interview ended with a present of half-a-bull to Micky from
the convict, which the boy seemed to stickle at accepting. But he took
it, and it strengthened his resolution not to turn informer, which was
probably Mr. Wix's object.

He came away with an impression that Miss Hawkins had said:--"The boy's
lying. How could the front-wall of a house fall down?" But he had heard
no more and was glad to come away. He went back to his Aunt Betsy and
cooked his chop under her tutelage. What a time he had been a