Later the same night Pete carried the news to Sulby. Grannie was in the bar-room, and he broke it to her gently, tenderly, lovingly.

Loud voices came from the kitchen. CÆsar was there in angry contention with Black Tom. An open Bible was between them on their knees. Tom tugged it towards him, bobbed his blunt forefinger down on the page, and cried, “There's the text—that'll pin you—publicans and sinners.”

CÆsar leaned back'in his seat, and said with withering scorn, “It's a bad business—I'll give you lave to say that. It's men like you that's making it bad. But whether is it better for a bad business to be in bad hands or in good ones? There's a big local praicher in London, they're telling me, that's hot for joining the public-house to the church, and turning the parsons into the publicans. That's what they all were on the Isle of Man in ould days gone by, and pity they're not so still. Oh, I've been giving it my sarious thoughts, sir. I've been making it a subject for prayer. 'Will I give up my public or hould fast to it to keep it out of worse hands?' And I'm strong to believe the Lord hath spoken. 'It's a little vineyard—a little work in a little vineyard. Stick to it, CÆsar,' and so I will.”

Pete stepped into the kitchen and flung his news at CÆsar with a sort of wild melancholy, as who would say, “There, is that enough for you? Are you satisfied now?”

“Mair yee shoh—it's the hand of God,” said CÆsar.

“A middling bad hand then,” said Pete; “I've seen better, anyway.”

A high spiritual pride took hold of CÆsar—Black Tom was watching him, and working his big eyebrows vigorously. With mouth firmly shut and head thrown back, CÆsar said in a sepulchral voice, “The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord!”

Pete made a crack of savage laughter.

“Aren't you feeling it, sir?” said CÆsar.

“Not a feel near me,” said Pete. “I never did the Lord no harm that I know of, but He's taken my young wife and left my poor innocent lil one motherless.”

“Unsearchable the wisdom and justice of God,” said CÆsar.

“Unsearchable?” said Pete. “It's all that. But I don't know if you're calling it justice. I'm not myself. It isn't my tally. Blasphemy? I lave it with you. A scoffer, am I? So be it. The Lord's licked me, and I've had enough. But I'm not going down on my knees for it, anyway. The Almighty and me is about quits.”

With that word on his lips he strode out of the place, grim, implacable, almost savage, a fierce smile fluttering on his ashy face.