drove with unusual rapidity to the mill. He found Jonas Shuttleworth already there, and going over his own mail with great apparent satisfaction. As Jonathan entered he lifted a letter, and shook it with a gentle, triumphant motion.
"It's from Squire Bashpoole," he said; and then he chuckled to himself as he looked at his nephew.
"Why-a! I hev just hed a few words with him. I told thee his civility was all shoddy. He at me this morning like a bully, and he gave me some varry uncivil words indeed."
"What did he say?"
"Why, he said my family was a low set."
"Did he? Niver mind, Jonathan. He'll hev to pay heavy for ivery ugly word. If he likes to buy 'em at our price neither thee nor me need grumble."
"What is he writing to thee about?"
Shuttleworth smiled queerly as he answered, "Why, it's about my soap factory, T' boiling-vats were put in on Saturday, and he was mad. He got into his fine carriage and came down on me, horses and livery and all. His big footman rapped with his silver-headed stick at my door
