"How was it?"

"Underhill was laid up with a rheumatic fever for three months. The
consequence was, that, when quarter-day came round, he was in about
the same situation with ourselves,--a little worse even, for his
wife was sick, also. But though Colman was aware of the
circumstances, he had no pity; but turned them out without
ceremony."

"Is it possible?" asked Mrs. Crump, uneasily.

"And there's no reason for his being more lenient with us. I can't
but feel anxious about to-morrow, Mary."

At this moment, verifying an old adage which will perhaps occur to
the reader, who should knock but Mr. Colman himself?

Both the cooper and his wife had an instinctive foreboding as to the
meaning of his visit.

He came in, rubbing his hands in a social way, as was his custom. No
one, to look at him, would have suspected the hardness of heart that
lay veiled under his velvety softness of manner.

"Good evening, Mr. Crump," said he, affably, "I trust you and your
worthy wife are in good health."

"That blessing, at least, is continued to us," said the cooper,
gravely.