opened, he would have access to the kitchen, and could hide his money under one of the bricks in the floor easily enough. There was no danger of any one getting in there; and if they did, how should they suspect the existence of the buried treasure?

Tom went up to the blacksmith in the village, and telling him that he had lost the key of his cupboard, procured a bunch of old keys and a file. The lock of his office-door was not a complicated one, and with a little filing and adjustment of a key, he soon contrived to open it. Then he went back to his own kitchen, procured a light, locked the outer door, and proceeded to explore his way to the basement of Aunt Betsy's house.

time, were now covered with rust, and a kind of red, greasy perspiration. Between the stones of the hearth, straggling bleached grasses had thrust themselves; and the soot that had fallen from the chimney had formed the basis of a sort of mould, on which there was a feeble growth of vegetable life. The saucepans still hung on their nails with their lids beside them, once of a silvery brightness, now rusted and discoloured. Plates and dishes stood all of a row above the kitchen dresser, covered with dust and grime. The eight-day clock in the corner was the only thing that kept its accustomed aspect-its face still shone out bright and clean, and the round moon and the astronomical emblems upon it were the only cheerful things visible.

Mouldy and musty, smelt everything Tom didn't stop long looking about about the old place. Dust was everywhere, him, but presently remembered what had and cobwebs with great fat spiders, who brought him here, and he then began to hurried off into crevices at Tom's ap- consider where he should dig his hole, proach, and lay there doubtfully, with and hide his money. It must be in a one cruel hairy talon stretched out, won-place he should have no difficulty in finddering, perhaps, if the end of everything ing again himself, and with that view, he were come, or only a bigger fly than ordinary, that might by-and-by be entangled, and sprung upon, and devoured. In the bricked passages below, a settlement of ants had established themselves, and raised a nest; whilst the earthworms had thrown their castings all along the crevices. Tom made his way to the kitchen, looking neither to the right nor to the left, everything seemed so dismal and woful. He had some little difficulty with the kitchen-door, for the lock was of a different pattern, and finally he was obliged to use a screwdriver, and take the lock right off.

The kitchen looked desolate indeed. The black beetles had permanently camped out on its floor, and covered it with their odious battalions. At the sight of Tom and the lighted candle, they retreated indeed, but did not take to flight. "They were so unaccustomed to man, their tameness was shocking to see." Like Epic heroes among a crowd of ordinary warriors, huge cockchafers, with extended feelers, ran hither and thither, as if organizing their followers, and urging them on to battle; whilst white venerable insects - the Nestors of this mirky host-formed the centres of groups which might be councils of war. Tom stepped gingerly among the black beetles, and coming to the centre of the kitchen, looked curiously around. The range and boiler, which he had known so bright and polished in Aunt Betsey's

couldn't do better than make the hidingplace in the very centre of the kitchen. Tom paced it out from corner to corner, and where his footsteps crossed each other, he prised up the bricks and dug a hole. He had less difficulty in this than he expected. The bricks came up easily enough, and the ground below was quite loose and friable. He didn't dig very deep, for he was unused to the work, and he ached so badly across the small of the back, that he got quite weary and exhausted.

"This will do very well," he said to himself. "Nobody will dream of looking here for it; and people are too much afraid of the house ever to think of getting in." He put his bag of money into the hole, replaced the earth, beating it carefully down, levelled the bricks accurately, and removed all traces of his work.

"There!" he cried, flourishing the spade over his head; that's a good job done, anyhow." In his flourish he struck the low beam overhead, and hit some brown paper-bags that hung from the ceiling, scattering a lot of dust over himself.

"There go aunt's old dried herbs," he said; "all turned to dust, like herself."

He did not replace the lock on the kitchen-door, and left all the other doors unlocked that he might have easy access to his hoard, and made his way back to his own part of the house, feeling a good deal easier in his mind. Somebody was

thumping against the outer door, and "to see that all is kept in good order, you Tom went down to see who it was, leav-know." ing his tools up-stairs.

Lizzie realized the situation instantane"I want to borrow a spade, Master ously, but for the moment she was at a Rapley!" said a rough husky voice. It loss how to act. Not only would Frewen was Skim's. discover the opening made into the old "I haven't got one!" said Tom, in a house-not only would they lose their little confusion. He didn't like to own dwelling and the ten shillings a week, but that his spade was in his bedroom. they would also, probably, incur the lawSkim went off rather sulkily. Then yer's ill-will, and jeopardize Tom's apsaid Tom to himself: "If I hadn't hid-pointment. Mr. Frewen had been a good den my money up so carefully, it would friend in many ways. It was he who, in have frightened me to see that fellow conjunction with Aunt Booth, had stood about the place." Skim had hardly been gone a minute, before Mr. Frewen came

in.

"Well, Tom," he said, seating himself in a wooden chair in the kitchen, and smiling in an absent kind of way, "I've come to look round the place."

"Come to look round the place?" cried Tom, with some dismay.

"Yes," said Frewen. "According to the will, you know, Tom, I'm bound to inspect the premises every year, to see that everything is safe and right. I'll go upstairs now."

"Oh that's a pity," said Tom. "Lizzie's gone out, and she's locked up the bedroom, and taken the key with her."

Frewen tapped his foot impatiently on the floor.

"What's that bunch of keys you've got there?" he cried, pointing to those Tom had unwittingly kept in his hand.

"Oh! those are some I got from the blacksmith; I lost the key of the washhouse."

security for Tom's faithful performance of his duties, and if he were offended, and offered to withdraw, where could they get another surety?

"La! Mr. Frewen," she said, “you can't come into my bedroom. The place ain't fit to be seen."

"Oh, nonsense!" said Frewen; "it's only a matter of business; just open the door and let me look in."

"Very well, sir," said Mrs. Tom: "I'm ashamed to shew you the place, sir, it's so untidy. Won't you wait till I've tidied it up?"

"Pooh, pooh!" said Frewen; "I haven't been married all these years not to know what an untidy room is. Come; lead the way!"

"Stop a moment!" said Lizzie."Tom, you must fetch little Bertie away. I couldn't have Mr. Frewen go near him for all the world!"

"What does it matter?" cried Frewen. "I've got children of my own." "But the scarlet fever — "Scarlet fever!" cried Frewen, jumping off from the chair, and running out into the garden. "Why didn't you tell me that before? Pretty noise my wife will make if she gets to hear of it. I shall be afraid to go home. Is the boy very bad?"

Lizzie looked dreadfully downcast, as she told Frewen that she didn't know how it would end.

Frewen stumped up and down the gravelled path. The thought had frequently suggested itself before; but now that he heard of the illness of the boy, it struck him with tenfold force: What a capital thing for my little lad if their youngster should pop off.

Yes; this contingent prospect which was so little good to the Rapley's, would be a useful thing for him. That his boy should have a comfortable landed prop erty waiting for him when he came of age, and all the accumulations of a long

minority, would add very considerably | The unexpected prospect of an extra fiveto the position and influence of the

"What's his little game to-night?" It was maddening to be the subject of mused Sailor, as he let himself in. this treatment, to be obliged to forfeit "However, it don't concern me, anyway." | honest name and self-respect, to rob and deceive trading connections and creditors for the sake of a hated enemy, and with

out the slightest permanent effect. Col-1 Emily sat up, however, in the cold dull lop had been driven to it step by step, room, that was pervaded by the smell of and now he saw himself at the last ex- corduroys and fustians: the fire went tremity his credit gone at last, threat-out, and the night grew colder and colder, ened on every side, writs showering down but still she sat wrapped up in her shawl, upon him daily, Frewen waiting with shivering in her hard horse-hair-covered keen intelligent eyes to give a last chair. Twelve o'clock struck-one and squeeze to him on his own account, be-two, and still her father had not returned. fore sweeping everything away in the She grew seriously alarmed now, and interests of the estate he represented. would have set out to search for him, but Collop had paid him ten pounds the she did not know in which direction to last ten pounds he had in the world a day's delay, hoping he hardly knew what perhaps, that the general ruin and destruction that To-morrow Morning was to bring might spare him from an ignominious end.

for

"Shall I come and post up the ledger, father?" said Emily, putting her head in at the counting-house door.

"No," said her father sullenly, "no. I don't think it will ever want posting again."

66

Why, father, what's the matter? Are you going to give up business?"

"I'm going to fail, Emily to be a bankrupt to see everything I have seized upon and sold everything-do you hear? - except the clothes on our backs!"

"How are we to live, father?" cried Emily in consternation.

I shall have to live in a prison; you, in the workhouse."

"Can nothing be done? Can nothing

save us?"

Emmy!

"Only a miracle. - Hush, Who is that in the shop?" Collop shook all over as he did now at any unaccustomed footstep.

Emily went out to see whom it could be. She returned presently. "It is that labouring man who has been to see you so often lately."

"Tell him to come in, Emmy; and you go and get your supper. Don't wait for me; and eat as much as you can, for I don't know where another meal is to come from."

Emily, in deep sadness and distress, but with that submissive meekness to which a life of abnegation had accustomed her, sat down to her solitary meal. She heard the murmur of talk going on in the counting-house, and thought it never would cease. The conference lasted a long while, and at the end of it, Collop put in his head at the sitting-room door to say that he was going out. He had received a sudden funeral order, he said, in reply to his daughter's inquiring glance. Don't sit up for me."

go.

At three o'clock he came in, with a strange light and excitement on his face. "Where have you been, father?" cried Emily.

"Never mind where I have been, girl," he said, sitting down to the bread and cheese that was on the table. "I have met with a friend in need. Perhaps I spoke too hastily just now. I may tide over my difficulties yet. At all events, Emmy, we won't starve. Here," he said, taking out a canvas bag -"here is a hundred pounds in gold. Keep it always about your person. Sew some of it in your stays, and some in your petticoat, and some keep in your pocket; do you hear? You must do it this very night, for we don't know who may be here to-morrow morning."

"O father, but is it right?"

"That money doesn't come out of the business, I tell you," said Collop, “but from an old friend; but you must keep it about you, for if we have an execution in to-morrow, the men may seize it."

CHAPTER VIII.

There an't shall please you; a foolish, mild man:
An honest man, look you, and soon dashed.

IT is a bright winter's morning. Mr. Rapley is up betimes, and performing his ablutions in a fresh-drawn bucket of spring-water from the well beside his door. His face is polished into a healthy glow with friction and yellow soap. He has got his best black trousers on, and is just struggling into his shirt, which is white as driven snow, with wristbands and front stiffened so that they could have stood alone. Mrs. Rapley sat up till late the night before getting up that faultless shirt, but the result was worthy of her pains. Tom is off to Biscopham to-day to pay over the rate-money. Farmer Brown is going to drive him in his dog-cart, for it is market day in the town, the market next before Christmas, and Milford is mustering in some force, meaning to go there.