`But you tore it more.'

`Well, I'd got a cobbler as 'ad licked seventeen -- an' Alfy Ant'ny 'e says:

"Adam an' Eve an' pinch-me,
Went down to a river to bade.
Adam an' Eve got drownded,
Who do yer think got saved?"

An' so I says, "Oh, Pinch-you," an' so I pinched 'im, an' 'e was mad, an' so he snatched may cobbler an' run off with it. An' so I run after 'im, an' when I was gettin' hold of him, 'e dodged, an' it ripped 'is collar. But I got my cobbler --'

He pulled from his pocket a black old horse-chestnut hanging on a string. This old cobbler had `cobbled' -- hit and smashed -- seventeen other cobblers on similar strings. So the boy was proud of his veteran.

`Well,' said Mrs Morel, `you know you've got no right to rip his collar.'

`Well, our mother!' he answered. `I never meant tr'a done it -- an' it was on'y an old indirrubber collar as was torn a'ready.'

`Next time,' said his mother, `you be more careful. I shouldn't like it if you came home with your collar torn off.'

`I don't care, our mother; I never did it a-purpose.'

The boy was rather miserable at being reprimanded.

`No -- well, you be more careful.'

William fled away, glad to be exonerated. And Mrs Morel, who hated any bother with the neighbours, thought she would explain to Mrs Anthony, and the business would be over.

But that evening Morel came in from the pit looking very sour. He stood in the kitchen and glared round, but did not speak for some minutes. Then:

`Wheer's that Willy?' he asked.

`What do you want him for?' asked Mrs Morel, who had guessed.

`I'll let 'im know when I get him,' said Morel, banging his pit-bottle on to the dresser.

`I suppose Mrs Anthony's got hold of you and been yarning to you about their Alfy's collar,' said Mrs Morel, rather sneering.

`Niver mind who's got hold of me,' said Morel. `When I get hold of 'im I'll make his bones rattle.'

`It's a poor tale,' said Mrs Morel, `that you're so ready to side with any snipey vixen who likes to come telling tales against your own children.'

`I'll learn 'im!' said Morel. `It none matters to me whose lad 'e is; 'e's none goin' rippin' an' tearin' about just as he's a mind.'

`"Ripping and tearing about"!' repeated Mrs Morel. `He was running after that Alfy, who'd taken his cobbler, and he accidentally got hold of his collar, because the other dodged--as an Anthony would.'

`I know!' shouted Morel threateningly.

`You would, before you're told,' replied his wife bitingly.