"And what did Spider do after all, Mr. Bates?" inquired the fisher, when I
came to the end of the story, and I answered him in a parable like.
"When the weasel sucked the robin's eggs, sir, the robin and his wife was
properly mad about it and swore as they'd be fearfully revenged upon him."
"And what did they do?" axed the gentleman.
"What could they do?" I axed him back.
"Nothing."
"That's exactly what they did do; and that's exactly what Nicky White
done--nothing. Once--in the street a bit after he'd come home--Will
Westaway turned round and saw Spider making hideous faces at him behind
his back. So he walked across the road and smacked the little man's
earhole and pulled his beard. Nought happened, however."
"And what became of William Westaway?"
"Well, most of us was rather sorry for him. He'd took a lot of trouble to
queer Spider's pitch and put up a mighty clever fight for Jenny, you see.
But the woman liked her little black beetle best. In fact she adores him
to this day. Billy married a very fine girl from Princetown. But I reckon
he never felt so properly in love with her as what he did with Mrs.
White."
No. XIV
THE WOODSTACK
As butler at Oakshotts I was a busy man no doubt, with a mighty good
master who knew he'd got a treasure. Because wine and tobacco be second
nature to me, and though very sparing in the use of both, I have great
natural gifts and a sort of steadfast and unfailing judgment for the best.
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