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 But Mr. Kantwise spoke never a word.

It was at last decided that John Kenneby should go both to Hamworth and to Bedford Row, but that he should go to Hamworth first. Moulder would have counselled him to have gone to neither, but Snengkeld remarked that there were too many at work to let the matter sleep, and John himself observed that 'anyways he hadn't done anything to be ashamed of.'

'Then go,' said Moulder at last, 'only don't say more than you are obliged to.'

'I does not like these business talkings on Christmas night,' said Mrs. Moulder, when the matter was arranged.

'What can one do?' asked Moulder.

'It's a tempting of Providence in my mind,' said Kantwise, as he replenished his glass, and turned his eyes up to the ceiling.

'Now that's gammon,' said Moulder. And then there arose among them a long and animated discussion on matters theological.

'I'll tell you what my idea of death is,' said Moulder, after a while. I aint a bit afeard of it. My father was an honest man as did his duty by his employers, and he died with a bottom of brandy before him and a pipe in his mouth. I sha'n't live long myself—'

'Gracious, Moulder, don't!' said Mrs. M.

'No, more I sha'n't, 'cause I'm fat as he was; and I hope I may die as he did. I've been honest to Hubbles and Grease. They've made thousands of pounds along of me, and have never lost none. Who can say more than that? When I took to the old girl there, I insured my life, so that she shouldn't want her wittles and drink—'

'Oh, M., don't!'

'And I aint afeard to die. Snengkeld, my old pal, hand us the brandy.'

Such is the modern philosophy of the Moulders, pigs out of the sty of Epicurus. And so it was they passed Christmas-day in Great St. Helens.