Tom Smith agreed almost pleasantly.  “Right you are,” he said, diving his hand into an inside pocket, “and, thank ’ee, I’ll manage the rest, and I’d better manage it alone.  I don’t want to draw my friends into any trouble over it,—­leastways not those that have done me a good turn.”

He fumbled for some time over the counting out of the money, but when at last he had put it into Bob’s hand, the latter turned abruptly away, and with only a brief ‘good-night’ plunged hurriedly down the dark lane.

“Good-night,” said Bob, “and thank ’ee.  Three florins isn’t it?” But Tom Smith was out of sight, and Bob was glad to hurry away too, as fast as his legs could take him.  He did not feel altogether pleased, though he did try to cheer himself by chinking his money in his pocket, and planning how he would spend it.  All the way he went he seemed to see again Huldah’s pained, sorrowful face, as she knelt in the road beside her dog, and tried to shelter him with her own body.  How she must love the ugly yellow creature, and how he loved her! and how they would feel it, if they were parted.  What a life they’d lead, if they had to go back to the van and that ill-tempered, grumbling pair!

“I couldn’t wish anybody any worse harm than to have to live with that fellow,” he muttered to himself. “’Tis a poor look-out for ’em, poor toads!”

The thought of Huldah, and the desire not to be mixed up in the affair, sent him home and to bed, to be out of the way.  So he went to sleep, and tried to forget what he had done, and his three florins remained untouched in his pocket until morning.

In the meantime Tom Smith had made his way stealthily down the lane until he reached the little cottage.  At the gate he stopped, and peering about him, listened for a time, while he tried to plan what his first move should be.  Should he be civil and friendly, or should he just go in and frighten them all?  As he stood there debating he looked like some mean beast of prey, waiting to spring on his victim.  A cheerful light shone out of one of the little windows, and in the stillness of the night the sound of voices reached him.  One he recognised at once as Huldah’s.  A savoury smell of cooking was wafted out to him, and roused him to greater anger.

“That little hussy is a-selling of her baskets, I’ll be bound, and she and the old woman live on the fat of the land with the money that they bring.  My baskets, I calls ’em.  It’s sheer thieving!  A fine old yarn she’ll have told, too, and a nice character she’ll have give’d me, ugh, the little—­”

A ripple of laughter sounded through the silence.  To him it seemed as though Huldah were mocking him.  Hesitating no longer, he strode up the path and knocked heavily on the door.  Instantly the voices and the laughter ceased.  There was a spring at the door and a growl.  Dick had scented the enemy!  Then after a moment’s pause a voice asked timidly, “Who is there?”