"Ha' yer gotten t' belly-ache, or what?"
"I gotten neyther t' belly-ache, nor t' head-ache, nor onny other aches," answered Pippany. "I've comed home. I can dew as I like i' my own house. I'm t' maister here, onnyway."
By way of proving his lordship Pippany went to a locked cupboard, and produced from it a bottle of rum. He looked round at his neighbour.
"Will yer sup?" he asked. "Ye're welcome, if yer will."
Tibby Graddige affected well-bred reluctance.
"Well, just t' leastest drop i' t' world," she answered.
"Ye needn't be feared," said Pippany handsomely. "I hey another bottle putten away i' t' cupboard."
He poured Mrs. Graddige a liberal allowance of rum into a cracked tea-cup, and gave himself a stronger dose in a mug; Mrs. Graddige produced hot water from the kettle. They pledged each other kindly, and Pippany sat down in his easy-chair and lighted his pipe.
"Aye, I done wi' yon lot," he said. "No more trapesin' up yon hill for me. Mestur Perris, he thinks as how he can dew wi'out me, and he can try—I can dew wi'out him. He'll never find another man to rive his guts out for twelve shillin' a week as I've done."
"No, I'm sure!" assented Tibby Graddige. "I allus said 'at ye weren't properly paid. Of course, you did hev' your meat."
"It wor allus bacon," said Pippany. "If it worn't fried it were boiled, and if it worn't hot it were cowd, and it were bacon whether it wor cowd or yit hot. It wor varry rarely I iver set tooth into fresh butcher meat i' yon house—I niver had such poor atin' i' my life."
"They're poor," remarked Tibby Graddige, sipping her rum-and-water, and shaking her head reflectively. "They're poor, I hey eyes i' my head, and I've noticed a thing or two. They've gone fro' bad to worse, hey Mestur and Mistress Perris."
"Aye, an' they'll go to still worse," said Pippany. "They've stalled this here last rent-day off, seemi'ly, though it wor held i' t' village 'at they'd niver be able to raise t' brass. But I'll lay owt 'at he'll noän last long, weern't Perris. Theer's nowt on t' place. I wodn't gi' fifty pound for all 'at t' man hes!"
"An' what made yer fratch, like, i' 't' end?" inquired Tibby Graddige. "Wor it summat sudden?"
Pippany mixed himself another mugful of rum-andwater, and wagged his head over the first mouthful of it.
"It wor what ye might call a disagreement," he said. "It wor t' woman's fault. It appears 'at when Mestur Perris went to pay t' rent yisterda' he gat overcome wi' drinkin' sherry wine, and he ligged hissen down to sleep behind t' wheatstack t' Foweracre, and he lost his brass, and this mornin' t' woman accused me o' steylin' it."
"Nay!" exclaimed Tibby Graddige. "Ye don't say And your poor mother were well known to be t' honestest woman i' all Martinsthorpe!"
"Hey a drop more rum," said Pippany, pushing the bottle across the table. "Aye, we allus had a high character for honesty, all our fam'ly had. Howsomiver, yon woman accused me o' steylin' Mestur Perris's money, and afore I could dew or say owt, t' two on 'em set on to me and 'saulted me shameful, and he varry near squeezed t' life out o' me while shoo felt i' my pockets—I niver were so tret i' my life!"
"And did she find t' brass on yer, then?" inquired Tibby Graddige, greatly excited. "Ye don't say 'at she did!"
"Aye shoo fun' t' brass on me, reight enough," answered Pippany. "There's no denyin' that theer. But, ye see, it wor i' this way—I fun' that theer brass as I were crossin' t' fields to mi wark this mornin', and I put it i' my 'bacca-box for safety, and I wor goin' to ax Mestur Perris's advice about it; but before I'd t' chance o' doin' so, I tell yer they set on to me and knocked me about shameful and crewel, and they accused me o' steylin' it. And so, of course, I left 'em, an' I don't know 'at I shan't tak t' law on 'em. Theer's law for poor folk as well as for onnybody else, and I've a good mind to hey 'em up t' 'Sizes, and see what t' judge says to 'em."
"Aye, but poor folk is sore trodden down!" sighed Tibby Graddige. "They'd sweer theirsens black and blue at ye'd takken t' money. Ye should ha' made safe on it afore they could ha' laid hands on yer."
This was exactly what Pippany was thinking himself; it was poor consolation to reflect that all he had got out of his haul was a couple of bottles of rum, and he wished by that time that he had hidden the gold away in some safe place. But under the influence of his great indignation, and the rum-andwater at his elbow, the future just then looked rosy.
"Neer mind," he said, shaking his head threateningly. "I'm noän done wi' yon lot—I'll mak' Mistress Perris suffer for treatin' me as shoo did this mornin'. There's nobody can dew as they like wi' me. I'm noän dependent on Mestur Perris for a job o' work—theer's other folk i' t' parish 'at'll employ me besides him. And I'm noän wi'out a hit o' brass, neyther."
"What, ye gotten summat put by like?" asked Tibby Graddige, instantly curious. "Of course, bein' a single bachelor, ye will hey'."
Pippany wagged his head with mysterious intent.
"Now, then, niver ye mind," he answered. "I'm noän such a fooil as some folks think—I know a thing or two, I can tell yer. I'm happen as weel off as what Mestur Perris is, and I'm noän goin' to be insulted by neyther him nor her."
Thus thrown out of his regular employment, Pippany gathered together a living during the next two or three weeks by following the threshing-machine from farm to farm. It was quite true that he had some money hidden away in a corner of his cottage, but he had a liking for rum, and the store began to diminish. Pippany, however, was a man of infinite resource, and he knew many ways of eking out a living. He grew his own vegetables in his own garden; he fed, killed, cured and sold a pig every year, but reserved one flitch and one ham for his own consumption; he knew how to abstract a fat chicken from the neighbouring farmsteads now and then; he knew how to get fresh eggs without the trouble of paying for them. And upon occasion he knew how to snare a rabbit, and in the proper season his pot was not innocent of the presence of a hare. Appetising odours sometimes hung about Pippany's cottage, and if the gamekeeper had smelt them he might have been suspicious as to their cause; but the cottage was out of the way, and when Pippany cooked it was behind a jealously-locked door.
His weekly revenue being somewhat shorn by his peremptory dismissal from Cherry-trees, Pippany's predatory instincts were aroused, and he began to poach a little in a quiet and cautious fashion. There was no great danger in following this illegal method of obtaining food. The lord of the manor was an absentee, who never came near the village save at long intervals; the tenant of the house was an old gentleman who was too much of a recluse to care for sport; and although a gamekeeper was kept, he was more for ornament than for use. The gamekeeper certainly went to his bed at a proper and seasonable hour, and did no night patrolling of the woods and coverts which were under his care: Pippany, therefore, had little difficulty about getting a couple of rabbits when he wanted them. Now and then he gave a couple to Tibby Graddige: Tibby took them and asked no questions; it seemed to her a reasonable thing that a single gentleman who is obliged to buy bread and groceries and rum should eke out his living by appropriating ground game or anything else which costs him nothing.
Eastward of the village, and in the dip of the valley which lay beneath the uplands, whereof Taffendale's farm and lime-quarry formed the centre point, was a thick stretch of old woodland which covered a considerable expanse of country. This was Pippany Webster's favourite hunting-ground; he knew every yard of it, every turn of the tracks in it; he could have gone through it blindfold, or on the darkest night. In its very midst was a valley within a valley—a quiet, lonely dingle known to the village folk as Badger's
