The clerk, who had been brushing his hat and shaking the dust from his outer coat—­for he was a careful man with his clothes, and always well-dressed—­brought down his hand upon the table with some temper.

“Just stop that.  I’ve heard enough of that dream, and of all your dreams.  Confounded folly!  Haven’t I trouble and worry enough upon my mind, without your worrying me every time I come in about your idiotic dreams?”

“Well,” returned Mrs. Gum, “if the dream’s nothing, I’d like to ask why they had Pike up to-day before them all?”

“Who had him up?” asked the clerk, after a pause.  “Had him up where?”

“Before the people sitting on the body of Lord Hartledon.  Lydia Jones brought me the news just now.  ‘They had Pike the poacher up,’ says she.  ‘He was up before the jury, and had to confess to it.’  ‘Confess to what,’ said I.  ‘Why, that he was about in the woods when my lord met his end,’ said she; ’and it’s to know how my lord did meet it, and whether the poacher mightn’t have dealt that blow on his temple and robbed him after it.’  Gum—­”

“There’s no suspicion of foul play, is there?” interrupted the clerk, in strangely subdued tones.

“Not that I know of, except in Lydia’s temper,” answered Mrs. Gum.  “But I don’t like to hear he was up there at all.”

“Lydia Jones is a foul-tongued woman, capable of swearing away any man’s life.  Is Pike in custody?”

“Not yet.  They’ve let him off for the present.  Oh, Gum, often and often do I wish my days were ended!”

“Often and often do I wish I’d a quiet house to come to, and not be bothered with dreams,” was the scornful retort.  “Suppose you toast the muffins.”

She gave a sigh or two, put her cap straight, smoothed her ragged hair, and meekly rose to obey.  The clerk was carefully folding up the outer coat, for it was one he wore only on high-days, when he felt something in the pocket—­a small parcel.

“I’d almost forgotten this,” he exclaimed, taking it out.  “Thanks to you, Nance!  What with your dreams and other worryings I can’t think of my proper business.”

“What is it?” she asked.

“A deed Dr. Ashton’s lawyer got me to bring and save his clerk a journey—­if you must know.  I’ll take it over at once, while the tea’s brewing.”

As Jabez Gum passed through his own gate he looked towards Mr. Pike’s dwelling; it was only natural he should do so after the recent conversation; and he saw that worthy gentleman come stealing across the waste ground, with his usual cautious step.  Although not given to exchanging courtesies with his neighbour, the clerk walked briskly towards him now, and waited at the hurdles which divided the waste ground from the road.

“I hear you were prowling about the mill when Lord Hartledon met with his accident,” began the clerk, in low, condemning tones.

“And what if I was,” asked Pike, leaning his arms on the hurdles and facing the clerk.  “Near the mill I wasn’t; about the woods and river I was; and I saw him pass down in the sculling boat with his disabled arm.  What of it, I ask?”