“Pshaw!” and turned again to look at Mercy.  The bright color had not yet left her cheek.  The old man gazed at her angrily for a moment, then stopped short, planted his cane on the ground, and said in a loud tone, all the while peering into her face as if he would read her very thoughts,—­

“Don’t you know that Steve White isn’t good for any thin’?  Poor stock, poor stock!  Father before him poor stock, too.  Don’t you go to lettin’ him handle your money, child.  Mind now!  I’ll be a good friend to you, if you’ll do ’s I say; but, if Steve White gets hold on you, I’ll have nothin’ to do with you.  Mind that, eh? eh?”

Mercy had a swift sense of angry resentment at these words; but she repelled it, as she would have resisted the impulse to be angry with a little child.

“Mr. Wheeler,” she said with a gentle dignity of tone, which was not thrown away on the old man, “I do not know why you should speak so to me about Mr. White.  He is almost an entire stranger to me as yet.  We live in his house; but we do not know him or his mother yet, except in the most formal way.  He seems to be a very agreeable man,” she added with a little tinge of perversity.

“Hm! hm!” was all the old man’s reply; and he did not speak again till they reached Mercy’s gate.  Here the clock-carriers were about to set their burden down.  Mr. Wheeler ran towards them with his cane outstretched.

“Here! here! you lazy rascals!  Into the house! into the house, else you don’t get any quarter!

“Well I came along, child,—­well I came along.  They’d ha’ left it right out doors here.  Cheats!  People are all cheats, cheats, cheats,” he exclaimed.

Into the house, without a pause, without a knock, into poor bewildered Mrs. Carr’s presence he strode, the men following fast on his steps, and Mercy unable to pass them.

“Where’ll you have it?  Where’ll you have it, child?  Bless my soul! where’s that girl!” he exclaimed, looking back at Mercy, who stood on the front doorstep, vainly trying to hurry in to explain the strange scene to her mother.  Mrs. Carr was, as usual, knitting.  She rose up suddenly, confused at the strange apparitions before her, and let her knitting fall on the floor.  The ball rolled swiftly towards Mr. Wheeler, and tangled the yarn around his feet.  He jumped up and down, all the while brandishing his cane, and muttering, “Pshaw! pshaw!  Damn knitting!  Always did hate the sight on’t.”  But, kicking out to the right and the left vigorously, he soon snapped the yarn, and stood free.

“Mother! mother!” called Mercy from behind, “this is the gentleman I told you of,—­Mr. Wheeler.  He has very kindly given us this beautiful clock, almost exactly like ours.”

The sound of Mercy’s voice reassured the poor bewildered old woman, and, dropping her old-fashioned courtesy, she said timidly,—­

“Pleased to see you, sir.  Pray take a chair.”

“Chair? chair?  No, no!  Never do sit down in houses,—­never, never.  Where’ll you have it, mum?  Where’ll you have it?