y more trouble about it. But as I was passing
the Railway Inn, I says to myself, `I'll just step in and have a pint;'
but I wouldn't take the bag in with me, as perhaps some one or other
might be axing me questions about it, and it weren't no business of
theirs, so I just sets it down on the step outside, and goes in and
changes my florin and gets my pint of ale. Well, I got a-gossiping with
the landlady, and had another pint, and when I came out the bag were
gone. I couldn't believe my eyes at first, for I've often left things
on benches and steps outside the publics, and never knowed 'em touched
afore this; for they're as honest a people in Crossbourne as you'll find
anywhere. Howsomever, the bag were gone; there were no mistake about
that. I went round into the yard and axed the hostler, but he hadn't
seed nobody about. I looked up and down, but never a soul could I see
as had a bag in his hand, so what to do I couldn't tell. Then I
thought, `Maybe some one's carried it back to the station by mistake.'
So I went back, but it weren't there. I can tell you Thomas, I were
never more mad with myself in all my life; for though I haven't been one
of your sort, I've always respected you, and I'd rather have lost almost
any one else's things than yours. I only hope it ain't of much
consequence, as it were a very shabby bag, and didn't seem to have much
in it, for it were scarcely any weight at all."

"Well, James, don't fret about it," said the other; "you meant no harm.
As to the value of the bag, I know nothing more than you've told me, for
I haven't been expecting anything of the sort. I only trust it'll be a
warning to you, and that you'll stick firm to your pledge, and keep on
the outside of the beer-shops and publics for the future."

"I will, Thomas; I will. But you know I told you as that gent who put
the bag in my keeping gave me a letter besides. Well, I ain't lost the
letter, but I've really been ashamed to bring it you, as I couldn't
bring the bag too. And the devil said to me, `You'd better throw the
letter behind the fire, and there'll be an end of all bother;' but I
couldn't do that, though I've never had the courage yet to give it you.
But here it is;" and he took from his pocket a discoloured envelope, and
handed it to Bradly. It was directed in a crabbed hand, with the
writing sloping down to the corner--"Miss Jane Bradly, Crossbourne."

"Stop here a minute or two, Jim," said his friend, "and