man might "tell on him." Not that there was
any want of loyalty between them, but Daddy
was getting so garrulous, that he sometimes,
quite unintentionally, let out things which got
Benjy into trouble; so, when anything
happened, Benjy was obliged to remind grandfather
that he was not to tell.

"You won't tell mother that I let you fall in
the mud, will you, grandfather?" he would say,
as they bent their steps homeward.

"On no, Benjy," the old man protested. "I
—I shan't say a word about it."

At first, before complete confidence had been
established between them, Benjy sought on one
occasion to purchase his grandfather's silence
with a penny (which he did not at that moment
possess, but expected to have some day), but
he had come to know now that the bond of love
between them was strong enough to sustain
their mutual devotion, except when it was
occasionally loosened by an inadvertence, or a
lapse of memory, which, in Daddy's case, was
beyond the power of either love or money to
control. Going home in the summer evenings,
after their rambles, Daddy and Benjy
had deeply interesting tales to tell the family
of the wonders of the great world of Somers
Town.

Alas, that those relations should so often have
fallen upon indifferent ears! But John and
Martha were becoming sullen and moody, a prey
both of them to the deepest anxiety. The family
was still increasing, but the business continued
to resist all efforts in the direction of development.
John was getting into debt at the coal
wharf, and at the potato warehouse. The times
were hard, and were coming on harder with the
approach of winter. Coals were at eighteen-pence
a hundred, potatoes at a penny a pound.
The poor people couldn't pay the price. Poor
women came for a few pounds of coal and took
them away in their aprons. There was scarcely
any use for the truck. When coals were so
dear and fires so small, Chaldron-street was a
good deal given to warm itself in its bed, which
thus became a permanent institution. The
consequence to John was that his bed-wrench rusted
in idleness, and in view of the oxyde which
accumulated upon it, it might be said to have been
engaged in the disastrous occupation of eating
its head off. The fortunes of the emporium
were at a very low ebb; John and Martha could
scarcely provide bare food for the family. The
black Beadles, clamouring for victuals, and not
finding satisfaction at the little round table,
passed like a cloud of locusts over the stock
in the shop, and making short work of the carrots,
attacked even the cabbage-leaves and the turnip-tops.
John and Martha were denying themselves
day after day, that the old man might have a bit
of something nice and nourishing. But things
were coming to a crisis now. The coal-merchant,
the potato-merchant, and the landlord, all three
threatened process, and John was in hourly
expectation of an execution. All his striving
had been of no avail to save "him and them
from that disgrace." It must come now.
Nothing could avert it.

One afternoon John was sitting on a stool,
on the site of the mountain of coal, which had
been removed to the last shovelful of dust (and,
alas! the capitalist at the wharf had not the
faith to replace it), utterly dejected and dispirited.
It was a terrible trial for a strong man
with a stout heart and a vigorous will, to be
thus beaten down and trampled under the feet
of a cruel and relentless Fortune, whom he had
wooed with all his art, and wrestled with all his
strength. Poor John had received so many
heavy falls, that the spirit was almost crushed
out of him. When he looked up and saw a
strange man darkening his door, he felt that the
last blow was about to be struck.

"Come in," he said; "don't stand upon any
ceremony, I beg; I'm quite prepared for you."

"Are you?" said the man, curiously.

"Yes, I am," John replied. "I know your
errand as well as you do yourself."

"Do you?" said the man, in the same tone.

"Do you come hear to mock me?" cried
John, angrily, rising and facing the intruder;
"to mock me as well as ruin me."

"Mock you?" said the man.

"Yes, mock me," John repeated, in the same
angry tone.

"I did not come here to mock you; far from
it," the man returned. "In fact, my business
is not with you at all. I came to see Mr. Dodd,
who was an old neighbour of mine."

"I beg your pardon, sir," said John. "You'll
excuse me, I hope; but we are in great distress,
and I expected nothing but bad news."

"If I am not mistaken," said the stranger,
"it is good news I bring you. You are Mr.
Dodd's son-in-law, are you not?"

"I am, sir, and I wish I were a richer son-in-law
for his sake," John replied.

"Perhaps there will be no need for that, for
his sake" the stranger returned.

"What do you mean?" John asked.

"Well, just this," said the stranger. "A
few days ago I noticed an advertisement in the
paper, addressed to Daniel Dodd, informing him
that if he applied to Mr. Johnson, solicitor, in
Bedford-row, he would hear of something to his
advantage. Now, thinking that the Daniel
Dodd wanted might be my old neighbour, and
knowing Mr. Johnson, of Bedford-row, I called
upon that gentleman, and learned that the person
wanted is Daniel Dodd, my old neighbour, and
that under the will of his brother George, who
died some time ago in India, he is entitled
to——"

"Hold hard, sir," said John, grasping the
stranger by the arm, and staring at him with
fixed eyes. "You're not having a lark, a cruel
lark with us, are you?"

"God forbid," said the stranger, gravely.

"And answer me another thing, sir," John
continued, in the same excited way. "You're
not out of your mind, are you?"

"Certainly not," returned the man.

"Very well," said John; "you may go
on."

"I was going to say," the stranger continued,
"that under the will of his deceased brother