"Master," replied the beggar, "I like your frankness much; God knows
I had the humour of plain-dealing in me from a child, but there is
no doing with it in this world; we must live as we can, and lying
is, as you call it, my profession, but I was in some sort forced to
the trade, for I dealt once in telling truth.

"I was a labourer, sir, and gained as much as to make me live: I
never laid by indeed: for I was reckoned a piece of a wag, and your
wags, I take it, are seldom rich, Mr. Harley."

"So," said Harley, "you seem to know me."

"Ay, there are few folks in the country that I don't know something
of: how should I tell fortunes else?"

"True; but to go on with your story: you were a labourer, you say,
and a wag; your industry, I suppose, you left with your old trade,
but your humour you preserve to be of use to you in your new."

"What signifies sadness, sir? a man grows lean on't: but I was
brought to my idleness by degrees; first I could not work, and it
went against my stomach to work ever after. I was seized with a
jail fever at the time of the assizes being in the county where I
lived; for I was always curious to get acquainted with the felons,
because they are commonly fellows of much mirth and little thought,
qualities I had ever an esteem for. In the height of this fever,
Mr. Harley, the house where I lay took fire, and burnt to the
ground; I was carried out in that condition, and lay all the rest of
my illness in a barn. I got the better of my disease, however, but
I was so weak that I spit blood whenever I attempted to work. I had