"Not me, Mrs. B., I come 'ere to get wot you an' 'Earty calls 'light.' Now, sir," turning to Mr. MacFie, "wot do you think Gawd did, an' wot do you think o' that blighter David?"
"Meester Beendle," said Mr. MacFie at last, "we must leave to Proveedence the things that belong to Proveedence."
"I thought you'd agree, sir; you're a sport, you are. Of course David ought to 'ave left to Urrier wot belonged to Urrier, and not pinch 'is gal. You wouldn't do a thing like that, sir, would you?" he enquired. "I wonder wot the gal thought, eh, Millikins?" he enquired, turning to his niece.
"If I had been her," said Millie, "I should have killed David."
"Millie!" gasped Mr. Hearty. "How—how dare you say such a thing."
"I should, father," replied Millie quietly.
Mr. MacFie coughed, Mr. Hearty looked about him as if for something at which to clutch, then with sudden inspiration he said, "Millie, we will have a hymn."
"'Ere, let me get out," cried Bindle in mock alarm. "I can't stand Wheezy Willie again, too much of one note. Good night, Martha. My, ain't you gettin' fat," he remarked as he stood looking down at Mrs. Hearty, whereat she went off into wheezes and heavings of laughter. "S'long, 'Earty, I 'ope the allotments won't ruin you," and Bindle took his departure.
Millie went down to the door to see him out. "Uncle Joe," she whispered, as she bade him good night, "I understood."
"Oh, you did, did you?" said Bindle. "Ain't we getting a wise little puss, Millikins," and Bindle walked home whistling "The Long, Long Trail."