sense of the humor of it.  Its effect, however, was to make me less anxious to see my father, to repeat my proposal to him, and to call his attention to the cruelty performed in his name.  This one case I had taken out of the category of wrongs to be righted, by assuming arbitrarily the position of Providence in my own person,—­for, of course, I had bound myself to pay the poor creature’s rent as well as redeem her goods,—­and, whatever might happen to her in the future, had taken the past into my own hands.  The man came presently to see me, who, it seems, had acted as my father’s agent in the matter.  “I don’t know, sir, how Mr. Canning will take it,” he said.  “He don’t want none of those irregular, bad-paying ones in his property.  He always says as to look over it and let the rent run on is making things worse in the end.  His rule is, ‘Never more than a month, Stevens;’ that’s what Mr. Canning says to me, sir.  He says, ’More than that they can’t pay.  It’s no use trying.’  And it’s a good rule; it’s a very good rule.  He won’t hear none of their stories, sir.  Bless you, you’d never get a penny of rent from them small houses if you listened to their tales.  But if so be as you’ll pay Mrs. Jordan’s rent, it’s none of my business how it’s paid, so long as it’s paid, and I’ll send her back her things.  But they’ll just have to be took next time,” he added composedly.  “Over and over; it’s always the same story with them sort of poor folks,—­they’re too poor for anything, that’s the truth,” the man said.

Morphew came back to my room after my visitor was gone.  “Mr. Philip,” he said, “you’ll excuse me, sir, but if you’re going to pay all the poor folks’ rent as have distresses put in, you may just go into the court at once, for it’s without end—­”

“I am going to be the agent myself, Morphew, and manage for my father; and we’ll soon put a stop to that,” I said, more cheerfully than I felt.

“Manage for—­master,” he said, with a face of consternation.  “You, Mr. Philip!”

“You seem to have a great contempt for me, Morphew.”

He did not deny the fact.  He said with excitement, “Master, sir,—­master don’t let himself be put a stop to by any man.  Master’s—­not one to be managed.  Don’t you quarrel with master, Mr. Philip, for the love of God.”  The old man was quite pale.

“Quarrel!” I said.  “I have never quarrelled with my father, and I don’t mean to begin now.”

Morphew dispelled his own excitement by making up the fire, which was dying in the grate.  It was a very mild spring evening, and he made up a great blaze which would have suited December.  This is one of many ways in which an old servant will relieve his mind.  He muttered all the time as he threw on the coals and wood.  “He’ll not like it,—­we all know as he’ll not like it.  Master won’t stand no meddling, Mr. Philip,”—­this last he discharged at me like a flying arrow as he closed the door.