the crock, on him as sent it, him as has it, and on all the joy and
comfort it's to bring us! Come, drink, drink--we must all drink
that--but where's Tom?"

If Roger had been quite himself, he never would have asked so
superfluous a question: for Tom was always in one and the same company,
albeit never in one and the same place: he and his Pan-like Mentor were
continually together, studying wood-craft, water-craft, and all manner
of other craft connected with the antique trade of picking and stealing.

"Where's Tom?"

Grace, glad to have to answer any reasonable question, mildly answered,
"Gone away with Ben, father."

Alas! that little word, Ben, gave occasion to reveal a depth in Roger's
fall, which few could have expected to behold so soon. To think that the
liberal friend, who only last night had frankly shared his all with him,
whose honest glowing heart would freely shed its blood for him, that he
in recollection should be greeted with a loathing! Ben would come, and
claim some portion of his treasure--he would cry halves--or, who knows?
might want all--all: and take it by strong arm, or by threat to 'peach
against him:--curse that Burke! he hated him.

Oh, Steady Acton! what has made thee drink and swear? Oh, Honest Roger!
what has planted guile, and suspicion, and malice in thy heart? Are
these the mere first-fruits of coveting and having? Is this the earliest
blessing of that luck which many long for--the finding of a crock of
gold?