Abel Fletcher, I shall be willing and thankful for any work you can
give me."

"We'll see about it."


I looked gratefully and hopefully at my father--but his next words
rather modified my pleasure.

"Phineas, one of my men at the tan-yard has gone and 'listed this
day--left an honest livelihood to be a paid cut-throat. Now, if I
could get a lad--one too young to be caught hold of at every
pot-house by that man of blood, the recruiting sergeant--Dost thee
think this lad is fit to take the place?"

"Whose place, father?"

"Bill Watkins'."

I was dumb-foundered! I had occasionally seen the said Bill Watkins,
whose business it was to collect the skins which my father had bought
from the farmers round about. A distinct vision presented itself to
me of Bill and his cart, from which dangled the sanguinary exuviae of
defunct animals, while in front the said Bill sat enthroned,
dirty-clad, and dirty-handed, with his pipe in his mouth. The idea
of John Halifax in such a position was not agreeable.

"But, father--"

He read deprecation in my looks--alas! he knew too well how I