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 “Has Mr. Moore turned you off?”

“He has turned us off; and I’ve sich an opinion of him now, that I think, if he’d tak’ me on again to-morrow, I wouldn’t work for him.”

“It is not like you to say so, William.”

“I know it isn’t; but I’m getting different to mysel’: I feel I am changing. I wad n’t heed, if t’ bairns and t’ wife had enough to live on; but they’re pinched—they’re pined”

“Well, my lad, and so are you; I see you are. These are grievous times; I see suffering wherever I turn. William, sit down; Grace, sit down; let us talk it over.”

And in order the better to talk it over, Mr. Hall lifted the least of the children on to his knee, and placed his hand on the head of the next least; but when the small things began to chatter to him, he bid them “Whisht!” and, fixing his eyes on the grate, he regarded the handful of embers which burnt there very gravely.

“Sad times!” he said, “and they last long. It is the will of God: His will be done! but He tries us to the utmost.”

Again he reflected.

“You’ve no money, William, and you’ve nothing you could sell to raise a small sum?”

“No; I’ve selled t’ chest o’ drawers, and t’ clock, and t’ bit of a mahogany stand, and t’ wife’s bonny