She pointed, half-crying, to the second boy, who had already shown signs of hip disease.

Isaac still smoked, but he was troubled in his mind.  A vague presentiment held him, but the pressure brought to bear upon him was strong.

‘I tell yer the lock isn’t a good un!’ he said, suddenly removing his pipe.

Bessie stopped instantly in the middle of another tirade.  She was leaning against the door, arms akimbo, eyes alternately wet and flaming.

‘Then, if it isn’t,’ she said, with a triumphant change of tone,’ I’ll soon get Flack to see to it—­it’s nobbut a step.  I’ll run up after supper.’

Flack was the village carpenter.

‘An there’s mother’s old box as takes up the cupboard,’ continued Isaac, gruffly.

Bessie burst out laughing.

‘Oh! yer old silly,’ she said.  ‘As if they couldn’t stand one top o’ t’other.  Now, do just go, Isaac—­there’s a lovey!  ’Ee’s waitin for yer.  Whatever did make yer so contrairy?  Of course I didn’t mean nothin I said—­an I don’t mind Timothy, nor nothin.’

Still he did not move.

‘Then I s’pose yer want everybody in the village to know?’ he said, with sarcasm.

Bessie was taken aback.

‘No—­I—­don’t’—­she said, undecidedly—­’I don’t know what yer mean.’

’You go back and tell John as I’ll come when it’s dark, an, if he’s not a stupid, he won’t want me to come afore.’

Bessie understood and acquiesced.  She ran back with her message to John.

At half-past eight, when it had grown almost dark, Isaac descended the hill.  John opened the door to his knock.

‘Good-evenin, Isaac.  Yer’ll take it, will yer?’

‘If you can’t do nothin better with it,’ said Isaac, unwillingly.  ’But in gineral I’m not partial on keeping other folks’ money.’

John liked him all the better for his reluctance.

‘It’ll give yer no trouble,’ he said.  ’You lock it up, an it’ll be all safe.  Now, will yer lend a hand?’

Isaac stepped to the door, looked up the lane, and saw that all was quiet.  Then he came back, and the two men raised the box.

As they crossed the threshold, however, the door of the next cottage—­ which belonged to Watson the policeman—­opened suddenly.  John, in his excitement, was so startled that he almost dropped his end of the box.

‘Why, Bolderfield,’ said Watson’s cheery voice, ’what have you got there?  Do you want a hand?’

‘No, I don’t—­thank yer kindly,’ said John, in agitation.  ’An, if you please, Muster Watson, don’t yer say nothin to nobody.’

The burly policeman looked from John to Isaac, then at the box.  John’s hoard was notorious, and the officer of the law understood.

‘Lor bless yer,’ he said, with a laugh, ’I’m safe.  Well, good evenin to yer, if I can’t be of any assistance.’

And he went off on his beat.