“Mistakes will happen with the best of us,” said the shoemaker, loudly, for the benefit of one or two murmurers.  “I’ve known a man to marry a woman for her money before now and find out afterward that she hadn’t got any.”

One unit of the group detached itself and wandered listlessly toward the gate.

“Well, I hope I ain’t done nothing wrong,” said Mr. Rose, anxiously.  “You gave me the advice; there’s men here as can prove it.  I don’t want to do nothing agin the law.  What had I better do?”

“Well, if I was you,” said Mr. Quince, concealing his satisfaction with difficulty, “I should let him out at once and beg his pardon, and say you hope he’ll do nothing about it.  I’ll put in a word for you if you like with old Pascoe.”

Mr. Rose coughed and eyed him queerly.

“You’re a Briton,” he said, warmly.  “I’ll go and let him out at once.”

He strode off to the stable, despite the protests of Mr. Hogg, and, standing by the door, appeared to be deep in thought; then he came back slowly, feeling in his pockets as he walked.

“William,” he said, turning toward Mr. Hogg, “I s’pose you didn’t happen to notice where I put that key?”

“That I didn’t,” said Mr. Hogg, his face clearing suddenly.

“I had it in my hand not half an hour ago,” said the agitated Mr. Rose, thrusting one hand into his trouser-pocket and groping.  “It can’t be far.”

Mr. Quince attempted to speak, and, failing, blew his nose violently.

“My memory ain’t what it used to be,” said the farmer.  “Howsomever, I dare say it’ll turn up in a day or two.”

“You—­you’d better force the door,” suggested Mr. Quince, struggling to preserve an air of judicial calm.

“No, no,” said Mr. Rose; “I ain’t going to damage my property like that.  I can lock my stable-door and unlock it when I like; if people get in there as have no business there, it’s their look-out.”

“That’s law,” said Mr. Hogg; “I’ll eat my hat if it ain’t.”

“Do you mean to tell me you’ve really lost the key?” demanded Mr. Quince, eyeing the farmer sternly.

“Seems like it,” said Mr. Rose.  “However, he won’t come to no hurt.  I’ll put in some bread and water for him, same as you advised me to.”

Mr. Quince mastered his wrath by an effort, and with no sign of discomposure moved away without making any reference to the identity of the unfortunate in the stable.”

“Good-night,” said the farmer, “and thank you for coming and giving me the fresh advice.  It ain’t everybody that ‘ud ha’ taken the trouble.  If I hadn’t lost that key——­”

The shoemaker scowled, and with the two fat books under his arm passed the listening neighbours with the air of a thoughtful man out for an evening stroll.  Once inside his house, however, his manner changed, the attitude of Mrs. Quince demanding, at any rate, a show of concern.