“Who says so?” asked the clerk.

“I say so.  He frighted that boy Ripper pretty near to death.  The boy tore home one night in a state of terror, and all they could get out of him was that he’d met Pike with a pistol.  It’s weeks ago, and he hasn’t got over it yet.”

“Did Pike level it at him?”

“I tell you that’s all they could get out of the boy.  He’s a nice jail-bird too, that young Rip, unless I’m mistaken.  They might as well send him away, and make room for our Jim.”

“I think you are about the most fanciful, unjust, selfish woman in Calne!” exclaimed the clerk, unable to keep down his anger any longer.  “You’d take young Ripper’s character away without scruple, just because his place might suit your Jim!”

“I’m what?” shrieked Mrs. Jones.  “I’m unjust, am I—­”

An interruption occurred, and Mrs. Jones subsided into silence.  The back-door suddenly opened, not a couple of yards from that lady’s head, and in came Mrs. Gum in her ordinary indoor dress, two basins in her hand.  The sight of her visitor appeared to occasion her surprise; she uttered a faint scream, and nearly dropped the basins.

“Lawk a mercy!  Is it Lydia Jones?”

Mrs. Jones had been drawing a quiet deduction—­the clerk had said his wife was out only to deceive her.  She rose from her chair, and faced him.

“I thought you told me she was gone out?”

The clerk coughed.  He looked at his wife, as if asking an explanation.  The meeker of the two women hastily put her basins down, and stood looking from one to the other, apparently recovering breath.

“Didn’t you go out?” asked the clerk.

“I was going, Gum, but stepped out first to collect my basins, and then the rain came down.  I had to shelter under the wood-shed, it was peppering so.”

“Collect your basins!” interjected Mrs. Jones.  “Where from?”

“I put them out with scraps for the cats.”

“The cats must be well off in your quarter; better than some children in others,” was the rejoinder, delivered with an unnecessary amount of spite.  “What makes you so out of breath?” she tartly asked.

“I had a bit of a fright,” said the woman, simply.  “My breath seems to get affected at nothing of late, Lydia.”

“A pity but you’d your hands full of work, as mine are:  that’s the best remedy for fright,” said Mrs. Jones sarcastically.  “What might your fright have been, pray?”

“I was standing, waiting to dart over here, when I saw a man come across the waste land and make for Pike’s shed,” said Mrs. Gum, looking at her husband.  “It gave me a turn.  We’ve never seen a soul go near the place of an evening since Pike has been there.”

“Why should it give you a turn?” asked Mrs. Jones, who was in a mood to contradict everything.  “You’ve seen Pike often enough not to be frightened at him when he keeps his distance.”

“It wasn’t Pike, Lydia.  The man had an umbrella over him, and he looked like a gentleman.  Fancy Pike with an umbrella!”