marched out, leaving them in the firelight. The crowd in the passage
fell back to right and left, and in a moment more he had disappeared
into the black drizzle outside.

But the tradition of his feat survives, and the six holes in Prudy's
panel still bear witness to its truth.



CHAPTER VIII.

YOUNG ZEB SELLS HIS SOUL.

These things were reported to Young Zeb as he sat in his cottage, up the
coombe, and nursed his pain. He was a simple youth, and took life in
earnest, being very slow to catch fire, but burning consumedly when once
ignited. Also he was sincere as the day, and had been treacherously
used. So he raged at heart, and (for pride made him shun the public
eye) he sat at home and raged--the worst possible cure for love, which
goes out only by open-air treatment. From time to time his father,
Uncle Issy, and Elias Sweetland sat around him and administered comfort
after the manner of Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar.

"Your cheeks be pale, my son--lily-white, upon my soul. Rise, my son,
an' eat, as the wise king recommended, sayin', 'Stay me wi' flagons,
comfort me wi' yapples, for I be sick o' love.' A wise word that."

"Shall a man be poured out like water," inquired Uncle Issy, "an' turn
from his vittles, an' pass his prime i' blowin' his nose, an' all for a
woman?"