“Twenty pounds more must I have,” he moaned, “for the blaguard Nuncle.”

Every day thereafter he stole a little money from his employers and every night he made peace with God:  “Only twenty-five is the wage, and spiffs don’t count because of the fines.  Don’t you let me be found out, Big Man bach.  Will you strike mam into her grave?  And disgrace Respected Essec Pugh Capel Moriah?”

He did not abate his energies howsoever hard his disease was wasting and destroying him.  The men who lodged in his bedroom grew angry with him.  “How can we sleep with your dam coughing?” they cried.  “Why don’t you invest in a second-hand coffin?”

Feared that the women whom he served would complain that the poison of his sickness was tainting them and that he would be sent away, Joseph increased his pilferings; where he had stolen a shilling he now stole two shillings; and when he got five pounds above the sum he needed, he heaved a deep sigh and said:  “Thank you for your favor, God bach.  I will now go home to heal myself.”

Madlen took the money to Essec, coming back heavy with grief.

“Hoo-hoo,” she whined, “the ninety has bought only the land.  Selling the houses is Essec.”

“Wrong there is,” said Joseph.  “Probe deeply we must.”

From their puzzlings Madlen said:  “What will you do?”

“Go and charge swindler Moriah.”

“Meddle not with him.  Strong he is with the Lord.”

“Teach him will I to pocket my honest wealth.”

Because of his weakness, Joseph did not go to Moriah; to-day he said:  “I will to-morrow,” and to-morrow he said:  “Certain enough I’ll go to-morrow.”

In the twilight of an afternoon he and Madlen sat down, gazing about, and speaking scantily; and the same thought was with each of them, and this was the thought:  “A tearful prayer will remove the Big Man from His judgment, but nothing will remove Essec from his purpose.”

“Mam fach,” said Joseph, “how will things be with you?”

“Sorrow not, soul nice,” Madlen entreated her son.  “Couple of weeks very short have I to live.”

“As an hour is my space.  Who will stand up for you?”

“Hish, now.  Hish-hish, my little heart.”

Madlen sighed; and at the door she made a great clatter, and the sound of the clatter was less than the sound of her wailing.

“Mam!  Mam!” Joseph shouted.  “Don’t you scream.  Hap you will soften Nuncle’s heart if you say to him that my funeral is close.”

Madlen put a mourning gown over her petticoats and a mourning bodice over her shawls, and she tarried in a field as long as it would take her to have traveled to Moriah; and in the heat of the sun she returned, laughing.

“Mistake, mistake,” she cried.  “The houses are ours.  No undertanding was in me.  Cross was your Nuncle.  ‘Terrible if Joseph is bad with me,’ he said.  Man religious and tidy is Essec.”  Then she prayed that Joseph would die before her fault was found out.