to whom I am so much obliged?"

"My name is John Halifax."

"Yes; but WHAT are you?"

"What he said. Mr. Brithwood knows me well enough: I work in the
tan-yard."

"Oh!" Mr. March turned away with a resumption of dignity, though
evidently both surprised and disappointed. Young Brithwood laughed.

"I told you so, cousin. Hey, lad!" eyeing John over, "you've been
out at grass, and changed your coat for the better: but you're
certainly the same lad that my curricle nearly ran over one day; you
were driving a cart of skins--pah! I remember."

"So do I," said John, fiercely; but when the youth's insolent
laughter broke out again he controlled himself. The laughter ceased.

"Well, you've done me a good turn for an ill one, young--
what's-your-name, so here's a guinea for you." He threw it towards
him; it fell on the ground, and lay there.

"Nay, nay, Richard," expostulated the sickly gentleman, who, after
all, WAS a gentleman. He stood apparently struggling with
conflicting intentions, and not very easy in his mind. "My good
fellow," he said at last, in a constrained voice, "I won't forget
your bravery. If I could do anything for you--and meanwhile if a
trifle like this"--and he slipped something into John's hand.