"One thing is certain: nobody can get the better of me," George chuckled as he left the bakehouse. "I beat Hunter at his own game, I diddled Crampy in his, I scared Percy out of the country—at least that's my belief—and now I'm going to make old Dyer set a trap to catch the furniture snatchers."
The Mudges, unsuspecting treachery, were glittering like two stars of fashion; Robert lolling at ease in the parlour until Bessie summoned him to supper in the dining room. If it was their duty to look after the house, it was also their pleasure to take care of themselves. They did not regard George as either friend or enemy; they despised and pitied a poor fellow who possessed no visible means of support, while attributing his presence in Highfield to a cat-like habit of returning to a house which might have been his had he behaved with propriety.
The only person they feared was Kezia, who certainly did appear to have almost as much right to the Captain's furniture as themselves. This suspicion was in Robert's mind when, the shutters having been closed and the lamps lighted, he stood beside the round table upon which were spread various scraps of paper beginning to show signs of wear and tear.
"If we takes all that Mrs. Drake sees we'm to have, what do Kezia get?" he asked.
"Not much," replied Bessie.
"If Kezia takes all the things Mrs. Drake said she could have, what do we get?" continued Robert.
"Nought," said Bessie.
"When property be left this way, volks sometimes share and share alike; or they sells the stuff, and each takes half the money," continued Robert.
"Kezia won't neither sell nor share. She'll bide quiet till Miss Sophy dies, and then she'll see a lawyer," declared Bessie.
"Our bits o' paper are as gude as hers."