comfortable cottage, very comfortable, just repaired, you want for
nothing, and are earning twelve shillings a week."

"God help me, Muster Jennings: why my wages are but eight, and my hovel
scarcely better than a pig-pound."

"Look you, Acton; tell Sir John what you have told me, and you are a
ruined man. Make it twelve to his honour, as others shall do: who
knows," he added, half-coaxing, half-soliloquizing, "perhaps his honour
may really make it twelve, instead of eight."

"Oh, Muster Jennings! and who gets the odd four?"

"What, man! do you dare to ask me that? Remember, sir, at your peril,
that you, and all the rest, _have had_ twelve shillings a-week wages
whenever you have worked on this estate--not a word!--and that, if you
dare speak or even think to the contrary, you never earn a penny here
again. But here comes John Vincent, my master, as I, Simon Jennings, am
yours: be careful what you say to him."

Sir John Devereux Vincent, after a long minority, had at length shaken
off his guardians, and become master of his own doings, and of Hurstley
Hall. The property was in pretty decent order, and funds had accumulated
vastly: all this notwithstanding a thousand peculations, and the
suspicious incident that one of the guardians was a "highly respectable"
solicitor. Sir John, like most new brooms, had with the best intentions
resolved upon sweeping measures of great good; especially also upon
doing a great deal with his own eyes and ears; but, like as aforesaid,
he was permitted neither to hear nor see any truths at all. Just now,
the usual night's work took him a little off the hooks, and we must make