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Mrs. Clowes knew perfectly well whom the parson meant by “young Cheat-the-fishes”; indeed, the boy, on his rare holidays, had been a customer, as were the boys of College and Grammar School generally.

“Now! Why, what’s th’ lad been doing? Naught wrong, I reckon?”

You see she had faith in the boy’s open countenance.

“Humph! that’s as folk think,” he growled, keeping his own opinion to himself. “I don’t suppose I need to tell you the hubbub there’s been over there” (jerking his finger in the direction of the College) “about the stolen milk? That tale’s old enough.”

Mrs. Clowes nodded her mob-cap in assent.

“Well, that lad Jabez found a snake, four feet long, with its head in the milk pans the other morning. The sly thief turned spiteful, and the two had a battle-royal all to themselves in the cellar. The pugnacious rapscallion had a whip in his hand, and he—lashed the snake to death!”

Mrs. Clowes echoed his last words, and uplifted her hands in amazement. A snake was a terrible reptile to her.