"What is this for?"

"To show I have hired thee as my servant."

"Servant!" John repeated hastily, and rather proudly. "Oh yes, I
understand--well, I will try and serve you well."

My father did not notice that manly, self-dependent smile. He was
too busy calculating how many more of those said shillings would be a
fair equivalent for such labour as a lad, ever so much the junior of
Bill Watkins, could supply. After some cogitation he hit upon the
right sum. I forget how much--be sure it was not over much; for
money was scarce enough in this war-time; and besides, there was a
belief afloat, so widely that it tainted even my worthy father, that
plenty was not good for the working-classes; they required to be kept
low.

Having settled the question of wages, which John Halifax did not
debate at all, my father left us, but turned back when half-way
across the green-turfed square.

"Thee said thee had no money; there's a week in advance, my son being
witness I pay it thee; and I can pay thee a shilling less every
Saturday till we get straight."

"Very well, sir; good afternoon, and thank you."

John took off his cap as he spoke--Abel Fletcher, involuntarily
almost, touched his hat in return of the salutation. Then he walked
away, and we had the garden all to ourselves--we, Jonathan and his