SHORT CRUISES

BY

W. W. JACOBS

CONTENTS

THE CHANGELING

MIXED RELATIONS

HIS LORDSHIP

ALF'S DREAM

A DISTANT RELATIVE

THE TEST

IN THE FAMILY

A LOVE-KNOT

HER UNCLE

THE DREAMER

ANGELS' VISITS

A CIRCULAR TOUR

ILLUSTRATIONS

FROM DRAWINGS BY WILL OWEN

"'And what about my voice?' he demanded"

"'George!' she exclaimed sharply"

"He struck a match and, holding it before his face, looked up at thewindow"

"Mr. Stokes, taking his dazed friend by the arm, led him gently away"

"The mate smiled too"

"Sarcasm they did try, but at that the cook could more than hold hisown"

"'Good-by, ' he said slowly; 'and I wish you both every happiness'"

"'She's got your eyes, ' said his lordship"

"'I like fools better than lords'"

"He patted 'im on the shoulder and said 'ow well he was filling out"

"Mr. Potter was then introduced and received a gracious reception"

"A gold watch and chain lent an air of substance to his waistcoat"

"'And we don't want you following us about, ' said Mr. Dix, sharply"

"'I tell you he can't swim, ' repeated Mr. Heard, passionately"

"'You leave go o' my lodger, ' ses Bob Pretty"

"He slammed the door in Bob Pretty's face"

"On the third morning he took Mrs. Bowman out for a walk"

"'I had forgotten it was there, ' he said, nervously"

"The corner of the trunk took the gesticulating Mr. Wragg by the side ofthe head"

"'What did you do that for?' demanded Mr. Gale, sitting up"

"'Why didn't you tell me then?' ses Ted"

"'I shall take my opportunity, ' he ses, 'and break it to 'er gentlelike'"

"He astonished Mrs. Jobling next day by the gift of a geranium"

"They offered Mrs. Jobling her choice of at least a hundred plans forbringing him to his senses"

"'She asked 'im whether 'e'd got a fancy for any partikler spot to beburied in"

"'All right, ' ses the cabman, taking his 'orse out and leading it into astable, 'mind you don't catch cold'" "So long"

[Illustration: THE CHANGELING]

THE CHANGELING

Mr. George Henshaw let himself in at the front door, and stood for sometime wiping his boots on the mat. The little house was ominously still, and a faint feeling, only partially due to the lapse of time sincebreakfast, manifested itself behind his waistcoat. He coughed--a matter-of-fact cough--and, with an attempt to hum a tune, hung his hat on thepeg and entered the kitchen. 

Mrs. Henshaw had just finished dinner. The neatly cleaned bone of a chopwas on a plate by her side; a small dish which had contained a rice-pudding was empty; and the only food left on the table was a small rindof cheese and a piece of stale bread. Mr. Henshaw's face fell, but hedrew his chair up to the table and waited. 

His wife regarded him with a fixed and offensive stare. Her face was redand her eyes were blazing. It was hard to ignore her gaze; harder stillto meet it. Mr. Henshaw, steering a middle course, allowed his eyes towander round the room and to dwell, for the fraction of a second, on herangry face. 

"You've had dinner early?" he said at last, in a trembling voice. 

"Have I?" was the reply. 

Mr. Henshaw sought for a comforting explanation. "Clock's fast, " hesaid, rising and adjusting it. 

His wife rose almost at the same moment, and with slow deliberatemovements began to clear the table. 

"What--what about dinner?" said Mr. Henshaw, still trying to control hisfears. 

"Dinner!" repeated Mrs. Henshaw, in a terrible voice. "You go and tellthat creature you were on the 'bus with to get your dinner. "

Mr. Henshaw made a gesture of despair. "I tell you, " he saidemphatically, "it wasn't me. I told you so last night. You get an ideain your head and--"

"That'll do, " said his wife, sharply. "I saw you, George Henshaw, asplain as I see you now. You were tickling her ear with a bit o' straw, and that good-for-nothing friend of yours, Ted Stokes, was sittingbehind with another beauty. Nice way o' going on, and me at 'ome allalone by myself, slaving and slaving to keep things respectable!"

"It wasn't me, " reiterated the unfortunate. 

"When I called out to you, " pursued the unheeding Mrs. Henshaw, "youstarted and pulled your hat over your eyes and turned away. I shouldhave caught you if it hadn't been for all them carts in the way andfalling down. I can't understand now how it was I wasn't killed; I was amask of mud from head to foot. "

Despite his utmost efforts to prevent it, a faint smile flitted acrossthe pallid features of Mr. Henshaw. 

"Yes, you may laugh, " stormed his wife, "and I've no doubt them twobeauties laughed too. I'll take care you don't have much more to laughat, my man. "

She flung out of the room and began to wash up the crockery. Mr. Henshaw, after standing irresolute for some time with his hands in hispockets, put on his hat again and left the house. 

He dined badly at a small eating-house, and returned home at six o'clockthat evening to find his wife out and the cupboard empty. He went backto the same restaurant for tea, and after a gloomy meal went round todiscuss the situation with Ted Stokes. That gentleman's suggestion of adouble alibi he thrust aside with disdain and a stern appeal to talksense. 

"Mind, if my wife speaks to you about it, " he said, warningly, "itwasn't me, but somebody like me. You might say he 'ad been mistook forme before. "

Mr. Stokes grinned and, meeting a freezing glance from his friend, atonce became serious again. 

"Why not say it was you?" he said stoutly. "There's no harm in going fora 'bus-ride with a friend and a couple o' ladies. "

"O' course there ain't, " said the other, hotly, "else I shouldn't ha'done it. But you know what my wife is. "

Mr. Stokes, who was by no means a favorite of the lady in question, nodded. "You _were_ a bit larky, too, " he said thoughtfully. "You'ad quite a little slapping game after you pretended to steal herbrooch. "

"I s'pose when a gentleman's with a lady he 'as got to make 'imselfpleasant?" said Mr. Henshaw, with dignity. "Now, if my missis speaks toyou about it, you say that it wasn't me, but a friend of yours up fromthe country who is as like me as two peas. See?"

"Name o' Dodd, " said Mr. Stokes, with a knowing nod. "Tommy Dodd. "

"I'm not playing the giddy goat, " said the other, bitterly, "and I'dthank you not to. "

"All right, " said Mr. Stokes, somewhat taken aback. "Any name you like;I don't mind. "

Mr. Henshaw pondered. "Any sensible name'll do, " he said, stiffly. 

"Bell?" suggested Mr. Stokes. "Alfred Bell? I did know a man o' thatname once. He tried to borrow a bob off of me. "

"That'll do, " said his friend, after some consideration; "but mind youstick to the same name. And you'd better make up something about him--where he lives, and all that sort of thing--so that you can stand beingquestioned without looking more like a silly fool than you can help. "

"I'll do what I can for you, " said Mr. Stokes, "but I don't s'pose yourmissis'll come to me at all. She saw you plain enough. "

They walked on in silence and, still deep in thought over the matter, turned into a neighboring tavern for refreshment. Mr. Henshaw drank hiswith the air of a man performing a duty to his constitution; but Mr. Stokes, smacking his lips, waxed eloquent over the brew. 

"I hardly know what I'm drinking, " said his friend, forlornly. "Isuppose it's four-half, because that's what I asked for. "

Mr. Stokes gazed at him in deep sympathy. "It can't be so bad as that, "he said, with concern. 

"You wait till you're married, " said Mr. Henshaw, brusquely. "You'd nobusiness to ask me to go with you, and I was a good-natured fool to doit. "

"You stick to your tale and it'll be all right, " said the other. "Tellher that you spoke to me about it, and that his name is Alfred Bell--B Edouble L--and that he lives in--in Ireland. Here! I say!"

"Well, " said Mr. Henshaw, shaking off the hand which the other had laidon his arm. 

"You--you be Alfred Bell, " said Mr. Stokes, breathlessly. 

Mr. Henshaw started and eyed him nervously. His friend's eyes werebright and, he fancied, a bit wild. 

"Be Alfred Bell, " repeated Mr. Stokes. "Don't you see? Pretend to beAlfred Bell and go with me to your missis. I'll lend you a suit o'clothes and a fresh neck-tie, and there you are. "

"_What?_" roared the astounded Mr. Henshaw. 

"It's as easy as easy, " declared the other. "Tomorrow evening, in a newrig-out, I walks you up to your house and asks for you to show you toyourself. Of course, I'm sorry you ain't in, and perhaps we walks in towait for you. "

"Show me to myself?" gasped Mr. Henshaw. 

Mr. Stokes winked. "On account o' the surprising likeness, " he said, smiling. "It is surprising, ain't it? Fancy the two of us sitting thereand talking to her and waiting for you to come in and wondering what'smaking you so late!"

Mr. Henshaw regarded him steadfastly for some seconds, and then, takinga firm hold of his mug, slowly drained the contents. 

"And what about my voice?" he demanded, with something approaching asneer. 

"That's right, " said Mr. Stokes, hotly; "it wouldn't be you if youdidn't try to make difficulties. "

"But what about it?" said Mr. Henshaw, obstinately. 

"You can alter it, can't you?" said the other. 

They were alone in the bar, and Mr. Henshaw, after some persuasion, wasinduced to try a few experiments. He ranged from bass, which hurt histhroat, to a falsetto which put Mr. Stokes's teeth on edge, but in vain. The rehearsal was stopped at last by the landlord, who, having twicecome into the bar under the impression that fresh customers had entered, spoke his mind at some length. "Seem to think you're in a blessedmonkey-house, " he concluded, severely. 

"We thought we was, " said Mr. Stokes, with a long appraising sniff, ashe opened the door. "It's a mistake anybody might make. "

He pushed Mr. Henshaw into the street as the landlord placed a hand onthe flap of the bar, and followed him out. 

"You'll have to 'ave a bad cold and talk in 'usky whispers, " he saidslowly, as they walked along. "You caught a cold travelling in the trainfrom Ireland day before yesterday, and you made it worse going for aride on the outside of a 'bus with me and a couple o' ladies. See? Try'usky whispers now. "

Mr. Henshaw tried, and his friend, observing that he was taking but alanguid interest in the scheme, was loud in his praises. "I should never'ave known you, " he declared. "Why, it's wonderful! Why didn't you tellme you could act like that?"

Mr. Henshaw remarked modestly that he had not been aware of it himself, and, taking a more hopeful view of the situation, whispered himself intosuch a state of hoarseness that another visit for refreshment becameabsolutely necessary. 

"Keep your 'art up and practise, " said Mr. Stokes, as he shook handswith him some time later. "And if you can manage it, get off at fouro'clock to-morrow and we'll go round to see her while she thinks you'restill at work. "

[Illustration: "'And what about my voice?' he demanded. "]

Mr. Henshaw complimented him upon his artfulness, and, with someconfidence in a man of such resource, walked home in a more cheerfulframe of mind. His heart sank as he reached the house, but to his reliefthe lights were out and his wife was in bed. 

He was up early next morning, but his wife showed no signs of rising. The cupboard was still empty, and for some time he moved about hungryand undecided. Finally he mounted the stairs again, and with a view toarranging matters for the evening remonstrated with her upon herbehavior and loudly announced his intention of not coming home until shewas in a better frame of mind. From a disciplinary point of view theeffect of the remonstrance was somewhat lost by being shouted throughthe closed door, and he also broke off too abruptly when Mrs. Henshawopened it suddenly and confronted him. Fragments of the perorationreached her through the front door. 

Despite the fact that he left two hours earlier, the day passed butslowly, and he was in a very despondent state of mind by the time hereached Mr. Stokes's lodging. The latter, however, had cheerfulnessenough for both, and, after helping his visitor to change into freshclothes and part his hair in the middle instead of at the side, surveyedhim with grinning satisfaction. Under his directions Mr. Henshaw alsodarkened his eyebrows and beard with a little burnt cork until Mr. Stokes declared that his own mother wouldn't know him. 

"Now, be careful, " said Mr. Stokes, as they set off. "Be bright andcheerful; be a sort o' ladies' man to her, same as she saw you with theone on the 'bus. Be as unlike yourself as you can, and don't forgetyourself and call her by 'er pet name. "

"Pet name!" said Mr. Henshaw, indignantly. "Pet name! You'll alter yourideas of married life when you're caught, my lad, I can tell you!"

He walked on in scornful silence, lagging farther and farther behind asthey neared his house. When Mr. Stokes knocked at the door he stoodmodestly aside with his back against the wall of the next house. 

"Is George in?" inquired Mr. Stokes, carelessly, as Mrs. Henshaw openedthe door. 

"No, " was the reply. 

Mr. Stokes affected to ponder; Mr. Henshaw instinctively edged away. 

"He ain't in, " said Mrs. Henshaw, preparing to close the door. 

"I wanted to see 'im partikler, " said Mr. Stokes, slowly. "I brought afriend o' mine, name o' Alfred Bell, up here on purpose to see 'im. "

Mrs. Henshaw, following the direction of his eyes, put her head roundthe door. 

"George!" she exclaimed, sharply. 

Mr. Stokes smiled. "That ain't George, " he said, gleefully; "That's myfriend, Mr. Alfred Bell. Ain't it a extraordinary likeness? Ain't itwonderful? That's why I brought 'im up; I wanted George to see 'im. "

Mrs. Henshaw looked from one to the other in wrathful bewilderment. 

"His living image, ain't he?" said Mr. Stokes. "This is my pal George'smissis, " he added, turning to Mr. Bell. 

"Good afternoon to you, " said that gentleman, huskily. 

"He got a bad cold coming from Ireland, " explained Mr. Stokes, "and, foolish-like, he went outside a 'bus with me the other night and made itworse. "

"Oh-h!" said Mrs. Henshaw, slowly. "Indeed! Really!"

"He's quite curious to see George, " said Mr. Stokes. "In fact, he wasgoing back to Ireland tonight if it 'adn't been for that. He's waitingtill to-morrow just to see George. "

Mr. Bell, in a voice huskier than ever, said that he had altered hismind again. 

[Illustration: "'George!' she exclaimed, sharply. "]

"Nonsense!" said Mr. Stokes, sternly. "Besides, George would like to seeyou. I s'pose he won't be long?" he added, turning to Mrs. Henshaw, whowas regarding Mr. Bell much as a hungry cat regards a plump sparrow. 

"I don't suppose so, " she said, slowly. 

"I dare say if we wait a little while--" began Mr. Stokes, ignoring afrantic glance from Mr. Henshaw. 

"Come in, " said Mrs. Henshaw, suddenly. 

Mr. Stokes entered and, finding that his friend hung back, went outagain and half led, half pushed him indoors. Mr. Bell's shyness heattributed to his having lived so long in Ireland. 

"He is quite the ladies' man, though, " he said, artfully, as theyfollowed their hostess into the front room. "You should ha' seen 'im theother night on the 'bus. We had a couple o' lady friends o' mine withus, and even the conductor was surprised at his goings on. "

Mr. Bell, by no means easy as to the results of the experiment, scowledat him despairingly. 

"Carrying on, was he?" said Mrs. Henshaw, regarding the culpritsteadily. 

"Carrying on like one o'clock, " said the imaginative Mr. Stokes. "Calledone of 'em his little wife, and asked her where 'er wedding-ring was. "

"I didn't, " said Mr. Bell, in a suffocating voice. "I didn't. "

"There's nothing to be ashamed of, " said Mr. Stokes, virtuously. "Only, as I said to you at the time, 'Alfred, ' I says, 'it's all right for youas a single man, but you might be the twin-brother of a pal o' mine--George Henshaw by name--and if some people was to see you they mightthink it was 'im. ' Didn't I say that?"

"You did, " said Mr. Bell, helplessly. 

"And he wouldn't believe me, " said Mr. Stokes, turning to Mrs. Henshaw. "That's why I brought him round to see George. "

"I should like to see the two of 'em together myself, " said Mrs. Henshaw, quietly. "I should have taken him for my husband anywhere. "

"You wouldn't if you'd seen 'im last night, " said Mr. Stokes, shakinghis head and smiling. 

"Carrying on again, was he?" inquired Mrs. Henshaw, quickly. 

"No!" said Mr. Bell, in a stentorian whisper. 

His glance was so fierce that Mr. Stokes almost quailed. "I won't telltales out of school, " he said, nodding. 

"Not if I ask you to?" said Mrs. Henshaw, with a winning smile. 

"Ask 'im, " said Mr. Stokes. 

"Last night, " said the whisperer, hastily, "I went for a quiet walkround Victoria Park all by myself. Then I met Mr. Stokes, and we had onehalf-pint together at a public-house. That's all. "

Mrs. Henshaw looked at Mr. Stokes. Mr. Stokes winked at her. 

"It's as true as my name is--Alfred Bell, " said that gentleman, withslight but natural hesitation. 

"Have it your own way, " said Mr. Stokes, somewhat perturbed at Mr. Bell's refusal to live up to the character he had arranged for him. 

"I wish my husband spent his evenings in the same quiet way, " said Mrs. Henshaw, shaking her head. 

"Don't he?" said Mr. Stokes. "Why, he always seems quiet enough to me. Too quiet, I should say. Why, I never knew a quieter man. I chaff 'imabout it sometimes. "

"That's his artfulness, " said Mrs. Henshaw. 

"Always in a hurry to get 'ome, " pursued the benevolent Mr. Stokes. 

"He may say so to you to get away from you, " said Mrs. Henshaw, thoughtfully. "He does say you're hard to shake off sometimes. "

Mr. Stokes sat stiffly upright and threw a fierce glance in thedirection of Mr. Henshaw. 

"Pity he didn't tell me, " he said bitterly. "I ain't one to force mycompany where it ain't wanted. "

"I've said to him sometimes, " continued Mrs. Henshaw, "'Why don't youtell Ted Stokes plain that you don't like his company?' but he won't. That ain't his way. He'd sooner talk of you behind your back. "

"What does he say?" inquired Mr. Stokes, coldly ignoring a franticheadshake on the part of his friend. 

"Promise me you won't tell him if I tell you, " said Mrs. Henshaw. 

Mr. Stokes promised. 

"I don't know that I ought to tell you, " said Mrs. Henshaw, reluctantly, "but I get so sick and tired of him coming home and grumbling aboutyou. "

"Go on, " said the waiting Stokes. 

Mrs. Henshaw stole a glance at him. "He says you act as if you thoughtyourself everybody, " she said, softly, "and your everlasting clack, clack, clack, worries him to death. "

"Go on, " said the listener, grimly. 

"And he says it's so much trouble to get you to pay for your share ofthe drinks that he'd sooner pay himself and have done with it. "

Mr. Stokes sprang from his chair and, with clenched fists, stood angrilyregarding the horrified Mr. Bell. He composed himself by an effort andresumed his seat. 

"Anything else?" he inquired. 

"Heaps and heaps of things, " said Mrs. Henshaw; "but I don't want tomake bad blood between you. "

"Don't mind me, " said Mr. Stokes, glancing balefully over at hisagitated friend. "P'raps I'll tell you some things about him some day. "

"It would be only fair, " said Mrs. Henshaw, quickly. "Tell me now; Idon't mind Mr. Bell hearing; not a bit. "

Mr. Bell spoke up for himself. "I don't want to hear family secrets, " hewhispered, with an imploring glance at the vindictive Mr. Stokes. "Itwouldn't be right. "

"Well, _I_ don't want to say things behind a man's back, " said thelatter, recovering himself. "Let's wait till George comes in, and I'llsay 'em before his face. "

Mrs. Henshaw, biting her lip with annoyance, argued with him, but invain. Mr. Stokes was firm, and, with a glance at the clock, said thatGeorge would be in soon and he would wait till he came. 

Conversation flagged despite the efforts of Mrs. Henshaw to draw Mr. Bell out on the subject of Ireland. At an early stage of the catechismhe lost his voice entirely, and thereafter sat silent while Mrs. Henshawdiscussed the most intimate affairs of her husband's family with Mr. Stokes. She was in the middle of an anecdote about her mother-in-lawwhen Mr. Bell rose and, with some difficulty, intimated his desire todepart. 

"What, without seeing George?" said Mrs. Henshaw. "He can't be long now, and I should like to see you together. "

"P'r'aps we shall meet him, " said Mr. Stokes, who was getting rathertired of the affair. "Good night. "

He led the way to the door and, followed by the eager Mr. Bell, passedout into the street. The knowledge that Mrs. Henshaw was watching himfrom the door kept him silent until they had turned the corner, andthen, turning fiercely on Mr. Henshaw, he demanded to know what he meantby it. 

"I've done with you, " he said, waving aside the other's denials. "I'vegot you out of this mess, and now I've done with you. It's no goodtalking, because I don't want to hear it. "

"Good-by, then, " said Mr. Henshaw, with unexpected hauteur, as he cameto a standstill. 

"I'll 'ave my trousers first, though, " said Mr. Stokes, coldly, "andthen you can go, and welcome. "

"It's my opinion she recognized me, and said all that just to try us, "said the other, gloomily. 

Mr. Stokes scorned to reply, and reaching his lodging stood by insilence while the other changed his clothes. He refused Mr. Henshaw'shand with a gesture he had once seen on the stage, and, showing himdownstairs, closed the door behind him with a bang. 

Left to himself, the small remnants of Mr. Henshaw's couragedisappeared. He wandered forlornly up and down the streets until pastten o'clock, and then, cold and dispirited, set off in the direction ofhome. At the corner of the street he pulled himself together by a greateffort, and walking rapidly to his house put the key in the lock andturned it. 

The door was fast and the lights were out. He knocked, at first lightly, but gradually increasing in loudness. At the fourth knock a lightappeared in the room above, the window was raised, and Mrs. Henshawleaned out

"_Mr. Bell!_" she said, in tones of severe surprise. 

"_Bell?_" said her husband, in a more surprised voice still. "It'sme, Polly. "

"Go away at once, sir!" said Mrs. Henshaw, indignantly. "How dare youcall me by my Christian name? I'm surprised at you!"

"It's me, I tell you--George!" said her husband, desperately. "What doyou mean by calling me Bell?"

[Illustration: "He struck a match and, holding it before his face, looked up at the window. "]

"If you're Mr. Bell, as I suppose, you know well enough, " said Mrs. Henshaw, leaning out and regarding him fixedly; "and if you're Georgeyou don't. "

"I'm George, " said Mr. Henshaw, hastily. 

"I'm sure I don't know what to make of it, " said Mrs. Henshaw, with abewildered air. "Ted Stokes brought round a man named Bell thisafternoon so like you that I can't tell the difference. I don't knowwhat to do, but I do know this--I don't let you in until I have seen youboth together, so that I can tell which is which. "

"Both together!" exclaimed the startled Mr. Henshaw. "Here--look here!"

He struck a match and, holding it before his face, looked up at thewindow. Mrs. Henshaw scrutinized him gravely. 

"It's no good, " she said, despairingly. "I can't tell. I must see youboth together. "

Mr. Henshaw ground his teeth. "But where is he?" he inquired. 

"He went off with Ted Stokes, " said his wife. "If you're George you'dbetter go and ask him. "

She prepared to close the window, but Mr. Henshaw's voice arrested her. 

"And suppose he is not there?" he said. 

Mrs. Henshaw reflected. "If he is not there bring Ted Stokes back withyou, " she said at last, "and if he says you're George, I'll let you in. "The window closed and the light disappeared. Mr. Henshaw waited for sometime, but in vain, and, with a very clear idea of the reception he wouldmeet with at the hands of Mr. Stokes, set off to his lodging. 

If anything, he had underestimated his friend's powers. Mr. Stokes, rudely disturbed just as he had got into bed, was the incarnation ofwrath. He was violent, bitter, and insulting in a breath, but Mr. Henshaw was desperate, and Mr. Stokes, after vowing over and over againthat nothing should induce him to accompany him back to his house, wasat last so moved by his entreaties that he went upstairs and equippedhimself for the journey. 

"And, mind, after this I never want to see your face again, " he said, asthey walked swiftly back. 

Mr. Henshaw made no reply. The events of the day had almost exhaustedhim, and silence was maintained until they reached the house. Much tohis relief he heard somebody moving about upstairs after the firstknock, and in a very short time the window was gently raised and Mrs. Henshaw looked out. 

"What, you've come back?" she said, in a low, intense voice. "Well, ofall the impudence! How dare you carry on like this?"

"It's me, " said her husband. 

"Yes, I see it is, " was the reply. 

"It's him right enough; it's your husband, " said Mr. Stokes. "AlfredBell has gone. "

"How dare you stand there and tell me them falsehoods!" exclaimed Mrs. Henshaw. "I wonder the ground don't open and swallow you up. It's Mr. Bell, and if he don't go away I'll call the police. "

Messrs. Henshaw and Stokes, amazed at their reception, stood blinking upat her. Then they conferred in whispers. 

"If you can't tell 'em apart, how do you know this is Mr. Bell?"inquired Mr. Stokes, turning to the window again. 

"How do I know?" repeated Mrs. Henshaw. "How do I know? Why, because myhusband came home almost directly Mr. Bell had gone. I wonder he didn'tmeet him. "

"Came home?" cried Mr. Henshaw, shrilly. "_Came home_?"

"Yes; and don't make so much noise, " said Mrs. Henshaw, tartly; "he'sasleep. "

The two gentlemen turned and gazed at each other in stupefaction. Mr. Stokes was the first to recover, and, taking his dazed friend by thearm, led him gently away. At the end of the street he took a deepbreath, and, after a slight pause to collect his scattered energies, summed up the situation. 

[Illustration: "Mr. Stokes, taking his dazed friend by the arm, led himgently away. "]

"She's twigged it all along, " he said, with conviction. "You'll have tocome home with me tonight, and to-morrow the best thing you can do is tomake a clean breast of it. It was a silly game, and, if you remember, Iwas against it from the first. "

[Illustration: MIXED RELATIONS]

MIXED RELATIONS

The brig _Elizabeth Barstow_ came up the river as though in a hurryto taste again the joys of the Metropolis. The skipper, leaning on thewheel, was in the midst of a hot discussion with the mate, who wasplacing before him the hygienic, economical, and moral advantages oftotal abstinence in language of great strength but little variety. 

"Teetotallers eat more, " said the skipper, finally. 

The mate choked, and his eye sought the galley. "Eat more?" hespluttered. "Yesterday the meat was like brick-bats; to-day it tastedlike a bit o' dirty sponge. I've lived on biscuits this trip; and theonly tater I ate I'm going to see a doctor about direckly I get ashore. It's a sin and a shame to spoil good food the way 'e does. "

"The moment I can ship another cook he goes, " said the skipper. "Heseems busy, judging by the noise. "

"I'm making him clean up everything, ready for the next, " explained themate, grimly. "And he 'ad the cheek to tell me he's improving--improving!"

"He'll go as soon as I get another, " repeated the skipper, stooping andpeering ahead. "I don't like being poisoned any more than you do. Hetold me he could cook when I shipped him; said his sister had taughthim. "

The mate grunted and, walking away, relieved his mind by putting hishead in at the galley and bidding the cook hold up each separate utensilfor his inspection. A hole in the frying-pan the cook modestlyattributed to elbow-grease. 

The river narrowed, and the brig, picking her way daintily through thetraffic, sought her old berth at Buller's Wharf. It was occupied by adeaf sailing-barge, which, moved at last by self-interest, notunconnected with its paint, took up a less desirable position andconsoled itself with adjectives. 

The men on the wharf had gone for the day, and the crew of the_Elizabeth Barstow_, after making fast, went below to preparethemselves for an evening ashore. Standing before the largest saucepan-lid in the galley, the cook was putting the finishing touches to histoilet. 

A light, quick step on the wharf attracted the attention of the skipperas he leaned against the side smoking. It stopped just behind him, andturning round he found himself gazing into the soft brown eyes of theprettiest girl he had ever seen. 

"Is Mr. Jewell on board, please?" she asked, with a smile. 

"Jewell?" repeated the skipper. "Jewell? Don't know the name. "

"He was on board, " said the girl, somewhat taken aback. "This is the_Elizabeth Barstow_, isn't it?"

"What's his Christian name?" inquired the skipper, thoughtfully. 

"Albert, " replied the girl. "Bert, " she added, as the other shook hishead. 

"Oh, the cook!" said the skipper. "I didn't know his name was Jewell. Yes, he's in the galley. "

He stood eyeing her and wondering in a dazed fashion what she could seein a small, white-faced, slab-sided--

The girl broke in upon his meditations. "How does he cook?" sheinquired, smiling. 

He was about to tell her, when he suddenly remembered the cook'sstatement as to his instructor. 

"He's getting on, " he said, slowly; "he's getting on. Are you hissister?"

The girl smiled and nodded. "Ye--es, " she said, slowly. "Will you tellhim I am waiting for him, please?"

The skipper started and drew himself up; then he walked forward and puthis head in at the galley. 

"Bert, " he said, in a friendly voice, "your sister wants to see you. "

"_Who?_" inquired Mr. Jewell, in the accents of amazement. He puthis head out at the door and nodded, and then, somewhat red in the facewith the exercise, drew on his jacket and walked towards her. Theskipper followed. 

"Thank you, " said the girl, with a pleasant smile. 

"You're quite welcome, " said the skipper. 

Mr. Jewell stepped ashore and, after a moment of indecision, shook handswith his visitor. 

"If you're down this way again, " said the skipper, as they turned away, "perhaps you'd like to see the cabin. We're in rather a pickle just now, but if you should happen to come down for Bert to-morrow night--"

The girl's eyes grew mirthful and her lips trembled. "Thank you, " shesaid. 

"Some people like looking over cabins, " murmured the skipper. 

He raised his hand to his cap and turned away. The mate, who had justcome on deck, stared after the retreating couple and gave vent to a lowwhistle. 

"What a fine gal to pick up with Slushy, " he remarked. 

"It's his sister, " said the skipper, somewhat sharply. 

"The one that taught him to cook?" said the other, hastily. "Here! I'dlike five minutes alone with her; I'd give 'er a piece o' my mind that'ud do her good. I'd learn 'er. I'd tell her wot I thought of her. "

"That'll do, " said the skipper; "that'll do. He's not so bad for abeginner; I've known worse. "

"Not so bad?" repeated the mate. "Not so bad? Why"--his voice trembled--"ain't you going to give 'im the chuck, then?"

"I shall try him for another vy'ge, George, " said the skipper. "It'shard lines on a youngster if he don't have a chance. I was never one tobe severe. Live and let live, that's my motto. Do as you'd be done by. "

"You're turning soft-'arted in your old age, " grumbled the mate. 

"Old age!" said the other, in a startled voice. "Old age! I'm notthirty-seven yet. "

"You're getting on, " said the mate; "besides, you look old. "

The skipper investigated the charge in the cabin looking-glass tenminutes later. He twisted his beard in his hand and tried to imagine howhe would look without it. As a compromise he went out and had it cutshort and trimmed to a point. The glass smiled approval on his return;the mate smiled too, and, being caught in the act, said it made him looklike his own grandson. 

It was late when the cook returned, but the skipper was on deck, and, stopping him for a match, entered into a little conversation. Mr. Jewell, surprised at first, soon became at his ease, and, the talkdrifting in some unknown fashion to Miss Jewell, discussed her withbrotherly frankness. 

"You spent the evening together, I s'pose?" said the skipper, carelessly. 

Mr. Jewell glanced at him from the corner of his eye. "Cooking, " hesaid, and put his hand over his mouth with some suddenness. 

By the time they parted the skipper had his hand in a friendly fashionon the cook's shoulder, and was displaying an interest in his welfare asunusual as it was gratifying. So unaccustomed was Mr. Jewell to suchconsideration that he was fain to pause for a moment or two to regaincontrol of his features before plunging into the lamp-lit fo'c'sle. 

[Illustration: "The mate smiled too. "]

The mate made but a poor breakfast next morning, but his superior, whosaw the hand of Miss Jewell in the muddy coffee and the cremated bacon, ate his with relish. He was looking forward to the evening, the cookhaving assured him that his sister had accepted his invitation toinspect the cabin, and indeed had talked of little else. The boy was setto work house-cleaning, and, having gleaned a few particulars, cursedthe sex with painstaking thoroughness. 

It seemed to the skipper a favorable omen that Miss Jewell descended thecompanion-ladder as though to the manner born; and her exclamations ofdelight at the cabin completed his satisfaction. The cook, who hadfollowed them below with some trepidation, became reassured, and seatinghimself on a locker joined modestly in the conversation. 

"It's like a doll's-house, " declared the girl, as she finished byexamining the space-saving devices in the state-room. "Well, I mustn'ttake up any more of your time. "

"I've got nothing to do, " said the skipper, hastily. "I--I was thinkingof going for a walk; but it's lonely walking about by yourself. "

Miss Jewell agreed. She lowered her eyes and looked under the lashes atthe skipper. 

"I never had a sister, " continued the latter, in melancholy accents. 

"I don't suppose you would want to take her out if you had, " said thegirl. 

The skipper protested. "Bert takes you out, " he said. 

"He isn't like most brothers, " said Miss Jewell, shifting along thelocker and placing her hand affectionately on the cook's shoulder. 

"If I had a sister, " continued the skipper, in a somewhat uneven voice, "I should take her out. This evening, for instance, I should take her toa theatre. "

Miss Jewell turned upon him the innocent face of a child. "It would benice to be your sister, " she said, calmly. 

The skipper attempted to speak, but his voice failed him. "Well, pretendyou are my sister, " he said, at last, "and we'll go to one. "

"Pretend?" said Miss Jewell, as she turned and eyed the cook. "Bertwouldn't like that, " she said, decidedly. 

"N--no, " said the cook, nervously, avoiding the skipper's eye. 

"It wouldn't be proper, " said Miss Jewell, sitting upright and lookingvery proper indeed. 

"I--I meant Bert to come, too, " said the skipper; "of course, " he added. 

The severity of Miss Jewell's expression relaxed. She stole an amusedglance at the cook and, reading her instructions in his eye, began totemporize. Ten minutes later the crew of the _Elizabeth Barstow_ invarious attitudes of astonishment beheld their commander going ashorewith his cook. The mate so far forgot himself as to whistle, but withgreat presence of mind cuffed the boy's ear as the skipper turned. 

For some little distance the three walked along in silence. The skipperwas building castles in the air, the cook was not quite at his ease, andthe girl, gazing steadily in front of her, appeared slightlyembarrassed. 

By the time they reached Aldgate and stood waiting for an omnibus MissJewell found herself assailed by doubts. She remembered that she did notwant to go to a theatre, and warmly pressed the two men to go togetherand leave her to go home. The skipper remonstrated in vain, but the cookcame to the rescue, and Miss Jewell, still protesting, was pushed on toa 'bus and propelled upstairs. She took a vacant seat in front, and theskipper and Mr. Jewell shared one behind. 

The three hours at the theatre passed all too soon, although the girlwas so interested in the performance that she paid but slight attentionto her companions. During the waits she became interested in hersurroundings, and several times called the skipper's attention to smart-looking men in the stalls and boxes. At one man she stared sopersistently that an opera-glass was at last levelled in return. 

"How rude of him, " she said, smiling sweetly at the skipper. 

She shook her head in disapproval, but the next moment he saw her gazingsteadily at the opera-glasses again. 

"If you don't look he'll soon get tired of it, " he said, between histeeth. 

"Yes, perhaps he will, " said Miss Jewell, without lowering her eyes inthe least. 

The skipper sat in torment until the lights were lowered and the curtainwent up again. When it fell he began to discuss the play, but MissJewell returned such vague replies that it was evident her thoughts werefar away. 

"I wonder who he is?" she whispered, gazing meditatingly at the box. 

"A waiter, I should think, " snapped the skipper. 

The girl shook her head. "No, he is much too distinguished-looking, " shesaid, seriously. "Well, I suppose he'll know me again. "

The skipper felt that he wanted to get up and smash things; beginningwith the man in the box. It was his first love episode for nearly tenyears, and he had forgotten the pains and penalties which attach to thecondition. When the performance was over he darted a threatening glanceat the box, and, keeping close to Miss Jewell, looked carefully abouthim to make sure that they were not followed. 

"It was ripping, " said the cook, as they emerged into the fresh air. 

"Lovely, " said the girl, in a voice of gentle melancholy. "I shall comeand see it again, perhaps, when you are at sea. "

"Not alone?" said the skipper, in a startled voice. 

"I don't mind being alone, " said Miss Jewell, gently; "I'm used to it. "

The other's reply was lost in the rush for the 'bus, and for the secondtime that evening the skipper had to find fault with the seatingarrangements. And when a vacancy by the side of Miss Jewell did occur, he was promptly forestalled by a young man in a check suit smoking alarge cigar. 

They got off at Aldgate, and the girl thanked him for a pleasantevening. A hesitating offer to see her home was at once negatived, andthe skipper, watching her and the cook until they disappeared in thetraffic, walked slowly and thoughtfully to his ship. 

The brig sailed the next evening at eight o'clock, and it was not untilsix that the cook remarked, in the most casual manner, that his sisterwas coming down to see him off. She arrived half an hour late, and, sofar from wanting to see the cabin again, discovered an inconvenient loveof fresh air. She came down at last, at the instance of the cook, and, once below, her mood changed, and she treated the skipper with a softgraciousness which raised him to the seventh heaven. "You'll be good toBert, won't you?" she inquired, with a smile at that young man. 

"I'll treat him like my own brother, " said the skipper, fervently. "No, better than that; I'll treat him like your brother. "

The cook sat erect and, the skipper being occupied with Miss Jewell, winked solemnly at the skylight. 

"I know _you_ will, " said the girl, very softly; "but I don't thinkthe men--"

"The men'll do as I wish, " said the skipper, sternly. "I'm the master onthis ship--she's half mine, too--and anybody who interferes with himinterferes with me. If there's anything you don't like, Bert, you tellme. "

Mr. Jewell, his small, black eyes sparkling, promised, and then, muttering something about his work, exchanged glances with the girl andwent up on deck. 

"It is a nice cabin, " said Miss Jewell, shifting an inch and a halfnearer to the skipper. "I suppose poor Bert has to have his meals inthat stuffy little place at the other end of the ship, doesn't he?"

"The fo'c'sle?" said the skipper, struggling between love anddiscipline. "Yes. "

The girl sighed, and the mate, who was listening at the skylight above, held his breath with anxiety. Miss Jewell sighed again and in an absent-minded fashion increased the distance between herself and companion bysix inches. 

"It's usual, " faltered the skipper. 

"Yes, of course, " said the girl, coldly. 

"But if Bert likes to feed here, he's welcome, " said the skipper, desperately, "and he can sleep aft, too. The mate can say what helikes. "

The mate rose and, walking forward, raised his clenched fists to heavenand availed himself of the permission to the fullest extent of asomewhat extensive vocabulary. 

"Do you know what I think you are?" inquired Miss Jewell, bendingtowards him with a radiant face. 

"No, " said the other, trembling. "What?"

The girl paused. "It wouldn't do to tell you, " she said, in a low voice. "It might make you vain. "

"Do you know what I think you are?" inquired the skipper in his turn. 

Miss Jewell eyed him composedly, albeit the corners of her mouthtrembled. "Yes, " she said, unexpectedly. 

Steps sounded above and came heavily down the companion-ladder. "Tide'sa'most on the turn, " said the mate, gruffly, from the door. 

The skipper hesitated, but the mate stood aside for the girl to pass, and he followed her up on deck and assisted her to the jetty. For hoursafterwards he debated with himself whether she really had allowed herhand to stay in his a second or two longer than necessary, or whetherunconscious muscular action on his part was responsible for thephenomenon. 

He became despondent as they left London behind, but the necessity ofinterfering between a goggle-eyed and obtuse mate and a pallid but noless obstinate cook helped to relieve him. 

"He says he is going to sleep aft, " choked the mate, pointing to thecook's bedding. 

"Quite right, " said the skipper. "I told him to. He's going to take hismeals here, too. Anything to say against it?"

The mate sat down on a locker and fought for breath. The cook, stillpale, felt his small, black mustache and eyed him with triumphantmalice. "I told 'im they was your orders, " he remarked. 

"And I told him I didn't believe him, " said the mate. "Nobody would. Whoever 'eard of a cook living aft? Why, they'd laugh at the idea. "

He laughed himself, but in a strangely mirthless fashion, and, afraid totrust himself, went up on deck and brooded savagely apart. Nor did hecome down to breakfast until the skipper and cook had finished. 

Mr. Jewell bore his new honors badly, and the inability to express theirdissatisfaction by means of violence had a bad effect on the tempers ofthe crew. Sarcasm they did try, but at that the cook could more thanhold his own, and, although the men doubted his ability at first, he wasable to prove to them by actual experiment that he could cook worse thanthey supposed. 

The brig reached her destination--Creekhaven--on the fifth day, and Mr. Jewell found himself an honored guest at the skipper's cottage. It was acomfortable place, but, as the cook pointed out, too large for one. Healso referred, incidentally, to his sister's love of a country life, and, finding himself on a subject of which the other never tired, gavefull reins to a somewhat picturesque imagination. 

They were back at London within the fortnight, and the skipper learnedto his dismay that Miss Jewell was absent on a visit. In thesecircumstances he would have clung to the cook, but that gentleman, pleading engagements, managed to elude him for two nights out of thethree. 

On the third day Miss Jewell returned to London, and, making her way tothe wharf, was just in time to wave farewells as the brig parted fromthe wharf. 

[Illustration: "Sarcasm they did try, but at that the cook could morethan hold his own. "]

From the fact that the cook was not visible at the moment the skippertook the salutation to himself. It cheered him for the time, but thenext day he was so despondent that the cook, by this time thoroughly inhis confidence, offered to write when they got to Creekhaven and fix upan evening. 

"And there's really no need for you to come, Bert, " said the skipper, cheering up. 

Mr. Jewell shook his head. "She wouldn't go without me, " he said, gravely. "You've no idea 'ow particular she is. Always was from achild. "

"Well, we might lose you, " said the skipper, reflecting. "How would thatbe?"

"We might try it, " said the cook, without enthusiasm. 

To his dismay the skipper, before they reached London again, hadinvented at least a score of ways by which he might enjoy Miss Jewell'scompany without the presence of a third person, some of them soingenious that the cook, despite his utmost efforts, could see no way ofopposing them. 

The skipper put his ideas into practice as soon as they reached London. Between Wapping and Charing Cross he lost the cook three times. MissJewell found him twice, and the third time she was so difficult that theskipper had to join in the treasure-hunt himself. The cook listenedunmoved to a highly-colored picture of his carelessness from the lipsof Miss Jewell, and bestowed a sympathetic glance upon the skipper asshe paused for breath. 

"It's as bad as taking a child out, " said the latter, with well-affectedindignation. 

"Worse, " said the girl, tightening her lips. 

With a perseverance worthy of a better cause the skipper nudged thecook's arm and tried again. This time he was successful beyond hiswildest dreams, and, after ten minutes' frantic search, found that hehad lost them both. He wandered up and down for hours, and it was pasteleven when he returned to the ship and found the cook waiting for him. 

"We thought something 'ad happened to you, " said the cook. "Kate hasbeen in a fine way about it. Five minutes after you lost me she foundme, and we've been hunting 'igh and low ever since. "

Miss Jewell expressed her relief the next evening, and, stealing aglance at the face of the skipper, experienced a twinge of somethingwhich she took to be remorse. Ignoring the cook's hints as to theatres, she elected to go for a long 'bus ride, and, sitting in front with theskipper, left Mr. Jewell to keep a chaperon's eye on them from threeseats behind. 

Conversation was for some time disjointed; then the brightness andcrowded state of the streets led the skipper to sound his companion asto her avowed taste for a country life. 

"I should love it, " said Miss Jewell, with a sigh. "But there's nochance of it; I've got my living to earn. "

"You might--might marry somebody living in the country, " said theskipper, in trembling tones. 

Miss Jewell shuddered. "Marry!" she said, scornfully. 

"Most people do, " said the other. 

"Sensible people don't, " said the girl. "You haven't, " she added, with asmile. 

"I'm very thankful I haven't, " retorted the skipper, with great meaning. 

"There you are!" said the girl, triumphantly. 

"I never saw anybody I liked, " said the skipper, "be--before. "

"If ever I did marry, " said Miss Jewell, with remarkable composure, "ifever I was foolish enough to do such a thing, I think I would marry aman a few years younger than myself. "

"Younger?" said the dismayed skipper. 

Miss Jewell nodded. "They make the best husbands, " she said, gravely. 

The skipper began to argue the point, and Mr. Jewell, at that momenttaking a seat behind, joined in with some heat. A more ardent supportercould not have been found, although his repetition of the phrase "Mayand December" revealed a want of tact of which the skipper had notthought him capable. What had promised to be a red-letter day in hisexistence was spoiled, and he went to bed that night with the fullconviction that he had better abandon a project so hopeless. 

With a fine morning his courage revived, but as voyage succeeded voyagehe became more and more perplexed. The devotion of the cook was patentto all men, but Miss Jewell was as changeable as a weather-glass. Theskipper would leave her one night convinced that he had better forgether as soon as possible, and the next her manner would be so kind, andher glances so soft, that only the presence of the ever-watchful cookprevented him from proposing on the spot. The end came one evening inOctober. The skipper had hurried back from the City, laden with stores, Miss Jewell having, after many refusals, consented to grace the tea-table that afternoon. The table, set by the boy, groaned beneath theweight of unusual luxuries, but the girl had not arrived. The cook wasalso missing, and the only occupant of the cabin was the mate, who, sitting at one corner, was eating with great relish. 

"Ain't you going to get your tea?" he inquired. 

"No hurry, " said the skipper, somewhat incensed at his haste. "Itwouldn't have hurt _you_ to have waited a bit. "

"Waited?" said the other. "What for?"

"For my visitors, " was the reply. 

The mate bit a piece off a crust and stirred his tea. "No use waitingfor them, " he said, with a grin. "They ain't coming. "

"What do you mean?" demanded the skipper. 

"I mean, " said the mate, continuing to stir his tea with greatenjoyment--"I mean that all that kind'artedness of yours was cleanchucked away on that cook. He's got a berth ashore and he's gone forgood. He left you 'is love; he left it with Bill Hemp. "

"Berth ashore?" said the skipper, staring. 

"Ah!" said the mate, taking a large and noisy sip from his cup. "He'sbeen fooling you all along for what he could get out of you. Sleepingaft and feeding aft, nobody to speak a word to 'im, and going out andbeing treated by the skipper; Bill said he laughed so much when he wastelling 'im that the tears was running down 'is face like rain. He saidhe'd never been treated so much in his life. "

"That'll do, " said the skipper, quickly. 

"You ought to hear Bill tell it, " said the mate, regretfully. "I can'tdo it anything like as well as what he can. Made us all roar, he did. What amused 'em most was you thinking that that gal was cookie'ssister. "

The skipper, with a sharp exclamation, leaned forward, staring at him. 

"They're going to be married at Christmas, " said the mate, choking inhis cup. 

The skipper sat upright again, and tried manfully to compose hisfeatures. Many things he had not understood before were suddenly madeclear, and he remembered now the odd way in which the girl had regardedhim as she bade him good-night on the previous evening. The mate eyedhim with interest, and was about to supply him with further details whenhis attention was attracted by footsteps descending the companion-ladder. Then he put down his cup with great care, and stared in stolidamazement at the figure of Miss Jewell in the doorway. 

"I'm a bit late, " she said, flushing slightly. 

She crossed over and shook hands with the skipper, and, in the mostnatural fashion in the world, took a seat and began to remove hergloves. The mate swung round and regarded her open-mouthed; the skipper, whose ideas were in a whirl, sat regarding her in silence. The mate wasthe first to move; he left the cabin rubbing his shin, and castingfurious glances at the skipper. 

"You didn't expect to see me?" said the girl, reddening again. 

"No, " was the reply. 

The girl looked at the tablecloth. "I came to beg your pardon, " shesaid, in a low voice. 

"There's nothing to beg my pardon for, " said the skipper, clearing histhroat. "By rights I ought to beg yours. You did quite right to make funof me. I can see it now. "

"When you asked me whether I was Bert's sister I didn't like to say'no, ' continued the girl; "and at first I let you come out with me forthe fun of the thing, and then Bert said it would be good for him, andthen--then--"

"Yes, " said the skipper, after a long pause. 

The girl broke a biscuit into small pieces, and arranged them on thecloth. "Then I didn't mind your coming so much, " she said, in a lowvoice. 

The skipper caught his breath and tried to gaze at the averted face. 

The girl swept the crumbs aside and met his gaze squarely. "Not quite somuch, " she explained. 

"I've been a fool, " said the skipper. "I've been a fool. I've mademyself a laughing-stock all round, but if I could have it all over againI would. "

"That can never be, " said the girl, shaking her head. "Bert wouldn'tcome. "

[Illustration: "'Good-by, ' he said, slowly; 'and I wish you both everyhappiness. '"]

"No, of course not, " asserted the other. 

The girl bit her lip. The skipper thought that he had never seen hereyes so large and shining. There was a long silence. 

"Good-by, " said the girl at last, rising. 

The skipper rose to follow. "Good-by, " he said, slowly; "and I wish youboth every happiness. "

"Happiness?" echoed the girl, in a surprised voice. "Why?"

"When you are married. "

"I am not going to be married, " said the girl. "I told Bert so thisafternoon. Good-by. "

The skipper actually let her get nearly to the top of the ladder beforehe regained his presence of mind. Then, in obedience to a powerful tugat the hem of her skirt, she came down again, and accompanied him meeklyback to the cabin. 

[Illustration: HIS LORDSHIP]

HIS LORDSHIP

Farmer Rose sat in his porch smoking an evening pipe. By his side, in acomfortable Windsor chair, sat his friend the miller, also smoking, andgazing with half-closed eyes at the landscape as he listened for thethousandth time to his host's complaints about his daughter. 

"The long and the short of it is, Cray, " said the farmer, with an air ofmournful pride, "she's far too good-looking. "

Mr. Cray grunted. 

"Truth is truth, though she's my daughter, " continued Mr. Rose, vaguely. "She's too good-looking. Sometimes when I've taken her up to market I'veseen the folks fair turn their backs on the cattle and stare at herinstead. "

Mr. Cray sniffed; louder, perhaps, than he had intended. "Beautiful thatrose-bush smells, " he remarked, as his friend turned and eyed him. 

"What is the consequence?" demanded the farmer, relaxing his gaze. "Shelooks in the glass and sees herself, and then she gets miserable anduppish because there ain't nobody in these parts good enough for her tomarry. "

"It's a extraordinary thing to me where she gets them good looks from, "said the miller, deliberately. 

"Ah!" said Mr. Rose, and sat trying to think of a means of enlighteninghis friend without undue loss of modesty. 

"She ain't a bit like her poor mother, " mused Mr. Cray. 

"No, she don't get her looks from her, " assented the other. 

"It's one o' them things you can't account for, " said Mr. Cray, who wasvery tired of the subject; "it's just like seeing a beautiful flowerblooming on an old cabbage-stump. "

The farmer knocked his pipe out noisily and began to refill it. "Peoplehave said that she takes after me a trifle, " he remarked, shortly. 

"You weren't fool enough to believe that, I know, " said the miller. "Why, she's no more like you than you're like a warming-pan--not somuch. "

Mr. Rose regarded his friend fixedly. "You ain't got a very nice way o'putting things, Cray, " he said, mournfully. 

"I'm no flatterer, " said the miller; "never was. And you can't pleaseeverybody. If I said your daughter took after you I don't s'pose she'dever speak to me again. "

"The worst of it is, " said the farmer, disregarding his remark, "shewon't settle down. There's young Walter Lomas after her now, and shewon't look at him. He's a decent young fellow is Walter, and she's beenand named one o' the pigs after him, and the way she mixes them uptogether is disgraceful. "

"If she was my girl she should marry young Walter, " said the miller, firmly. "What's wrong with him?"

"She looks higher, " replied the other, mysteriously; "she's alwaysreading them romantic books full o' love tales, and she's never tired o'talking of a girl her mother used to know that went on the stage andmarried a baronet. She goes and sits in the best parlor every afternoonnow, and calls it the drawing-room. She'll sit there till she's past themarrying age, and then she'll turn round and blame me. "

"She wants a lesson, " said Mr. Cray, firmly. "She wants to be taught herposition in life, not to go about turning up her nose at young men andnaming pigs after them. "

Mr. Rose sighed. 

"What she wants to understand is that the upper classes wouldn't look ather, " pursued the miller. 

"It would be easier to make her understand that if they didn't, " saidthe farmer. 

"I mean, " said Mr. Cray, sternly, "with a view to marriage. What youought to do is to get somebody staying down here with you pretending tobe a lord or a nobleman, and ordering her about and not noticing hergood looks at all. Then, while she's upset about that, in comes WalterLomas to comfort her and be a contrast to the other. "

Mr. Rose withdrew his pipe and regarded him open-mouthed. 

"Yes; but how--" he began. 

"And it seems to me, " interrupted Mr. Cray, "that I know just the youngfellow to do it--nephew of my wife's. He was coming to stay a fortnightwith us, but you can have him with pleasure--me and him don't get onover and above well. "

"Perhaps he wouldn't do it, " objected the farmer. 

"He'd do it like a shot, " said Mr. Cray, positively. "It would be funfor us and it 'ud be a lesson for her. If you like, I'll tell him towrite to you for lodgings, as he wants to come for a fortnight's freshair after the fatiguing gayeties of town. "

"Fatiguing gayeties of town, " repeated the admiring farmer. "Fatiguing--"

He sat back in his chair and laughed, and Mr. Cray, delighted at theprospect of getting rid so easily of a tiresome guest, laughed too. Overhead at the open window a third person laughed, but in so quiet andwell-bred a fashion that neither of them heard her. 

The farmer received a letter a day or two afterwards, and negotiationsbetween Jane Rose on the one side and Lord Fairmount on the other weresoon in progress; the farmer's own composition being deemed somewhatcrude for such a correspondence. 

"I wish he didn't want it kept so secret, " said Miss Rose, ponderingover the final letter. "I should like to let the Grays and one or twomore people know he is staying with us. However, I suppose he must havehis own way. "

"You must do as he wishes, " said her father, using his handkerchiefviolently. 

Jane sighed. "He'll be a little company for me, at any rate, " sheremarked. "What is the matter, father?"

"Bit of a cold, " said the farmer, indistinctly, as he made for the door, still holding his handkerchief to his face. "Been coming on some time. "

He put on his hat and went out, and Miss Rose, watching him from thewindow, was not without fears that the joke might prove too much for aman of his habit. She regarded him thoughtfully, and when he returned atone o'clock to dinner, and encountered instead a violent dust-stormwhich was raging in the house, she noted with pleasure that his sense ofhumor was more under control. 

"Dinner?" she said, as he strove to squeeze past the furniture which waspiled in the hall. "We've got no time to think of dinner, and if we hadthere's no place for you to eat it. You'd better go in the larder andcut yourself a crust of bread and cheese. "

Her father hesitated and glared at the servant, who, with her head boundup in a duster, passed at the double with a broom. Then he walked slowlyinto the kitchen. 

Miss Rose called out something after him. 

"Eh?" said her father, coming back hopefully. 

"How is your cold, dear?"

The farmer made no reply, and his daughter smiled contentedly as sheheard him stamping about in the larder. He made but a poor meal, andthen, refusing point-blank to assist Annie in moving the piano, went andsmoked a very reflective pipe in the garden. 

[Illustration: "'She's got your eyes, ' said his lordship. "]

Lord Fairmount arrived the following day on foot from the station, andafter acknowledging the farmer's salute with a distant nod requested himto send a cart for his luggage. He was a tall, good-looking young man, and as he stood in the hall languidly twisting his mustache Miss Rosedeliberately decided upon his destruction. 

"These your daughters?" he inquired, carelessly, as he followed his hostinto the parlor. 

"One of 'em is, my lord; the other is my servant, " replied the farmer. 

"She's got your eyes, " said his lordship, tapping the astonished Annieunder the chin; "your nose too, I think. "

"That's my servant, " said the farmer, knitting his brows at him. 

"Oh, indeed!" said his lordship, airily. 

He turned round and regarded Jane, but, although she tried to meet himhalf-way by elevating her chin a little, his audacity failed him and thewords died away on his tongue. A long silence followed, broken only bythe ill-suppressed giggles of Annie, who had retired to the kitchen. 

"I trust that we shall make your lordship comfortable, " said Miss Rose. 

"I hope so, my good girl, " was the reply. "And now will you show me myroom?"

Miss Rose led the way upstairs and threw open the door; Lord Fairmount, pausing on the threshold, gazed at it disparagingly. 

"Is this the best room you have?" he inquired, stiffly. 

"Oh, no, " said Miss Rose, smiling; "father's room is much better thanthis. Look here. "

She threw open another door and, ignoring a gesticulating figure whichstood in the hall below, regarded him anxiously. "If you would preferfather's room he would be delighted for you to have it. Delighted. "

"Yes, I will have this one, " said Lord Fairmount, entering. "Bring me upsome hot water, please, and clear these boots and leggings out. "

Miss Rose tripped downstairs and, bestowing a witching smile upon hersire, waved away his request for an explanation and hastened into thekitchen, whence Annie shortly afterwards emerged with the water. 

It was with something of a shock that the farmer discovered that he hadto wait for his dinner while his lordship had luncheon. That meal, underhis daughter's management, took a long time, and the joint when itreached him was more than half cold. It was, moreover, quite clear thatthe aristocracy had not even mastered the rudiments of carving, butpreferred instead to box the compass for tit-bits. 

He ate his meal in silence, and when it was over sought out his guest toadminister a few much-needed stage-directions. Owing, however, to theubiquity of Jane he wasted nearly the whole of the afternoon before heobtained an opportunity. Even then the interview was short, the farmerhaving to compress into ten seconds instructions for Lord Fairmount toexpress a desire to take his meals with the family, and his dinner atthe respectable hour of 1 p. M. Instructions as to a change of bedroomwere frustrated by the reappearance of Jane. 

His lordship went for a walk after that, and coming back with a boredair stood on the hearthrug in the living-room and watched Miss Rosesewing. 

"Very dull place, " he said at last, in a dissatisfied voice. 

"Yes, my lord, " said Miss Rose, demurely. 

"Fearfully dull, " complained his lordship, stifling a yawn. "What I'm todo to amuse myself for a fortnight I'm sure I don't know. "

Miss Rose raised her fine eyes and regarded him intently. Many a lesserman would have looked no farther for amusement. 

"I'm afraid there is not much to do about here, my lord, " she saidquietly. "We are very plain folk in these parts. "

"Yes, " assented the other. An obvious compliment rose of itself to hislips, but he restrained himself, though with difficulty. Miss Rose benther head over her work and stitched industriously. His lordship took upa book and, remembering his mission, read for a couple of hours withouttaking the slightest notice of her. Miss Rose glanced over in hisdirection once or twice, and then, with a somewhat vixenish expressionon her delicate features, resumed her sewing. 

"Wonderful eyes she's got, " said the gentleman, as he sat on the edge ofhis bed that night and thought over the events of the day. "It's prettyto see them flash. "

He saw them flash several times during the next few days, and Mr. Rosehimself, was more than satisfied with the hauteur with which his guesttreated the household. 

"But I don't like the way you have with me, " he complained. 

"It's all in the part, " urged his lordship. 

"Well, you can leave that part out, " rejoined Mr. Rose, with someacerbity. "I object to being spoke to as you speak to me before thatgirl Annie. Be as proud and unpleasant as you like to my daughter, butleave me alone. Mind that!"

His lordship promised, and in pursuance of his host's instructionsstrove manfully to subdue feelings towards Miss Rose by no means inaccordance with them. The best of us are liable to absent-mindedness, and he sometimes so far forgot himself as to address her in tones ashumble as any in her somewhat large experience. 

"I hope that we are making you comfortable here, my lord?" she said, asthey sat together one afternoon. 

"I have never been more comfortable in my life, " was the gracious reply. 

Miss Rose shook her head. "Oh, my lord, " she said, in protest, "think ofyour mansion. "

His lordship thought of it. For two or three days he had been thinkingof houses and furniture and other things of that nature. 

"I have never seen an old country seat, " continued Miss Rose, claspingher hands and gazing at him wistfully. "I should be so grateful if yourlordship would describe yours to me. "

His lordship shifted uneasily, and then, in face of the girl'spersistence, stood for some time divided between the contending claimsof Hampton Court Palace and the Tower of London. He finally decided uponthe former, after first refurnishing it at Maple's. 

"How happy you must be!" said the breathless Jane, when he had finished. 

He shook his head gravely. "My possessions have never given me anyhappiness, " he remarked. "I would much rather be in a humble rank oflife. Live where I like, and--and marry whom I like. "

There was no mistaking the meaning fall in his voice. Miss Rose sighedgently and lowered her eyes--her lashes had often excited comment. Then, in a soft voice, she asked him the sort of life he would prefer. 

In reply, his lordship, with an eloquence which surprised himself, portrayed the joys of life in a seven-roomed house in town, with agreenhouse six feet by three, and a garden large enough to contain it. He really spoke well, and when he had finished his listener gazed at himwith eyes suffused with timid admiration. 

"Oh, my lord, " she said, prettily, "now I know what you've been doing. You've been slumming. "

"Slumming?" gasped his lordship. 

"You couldn't have described a place like that unless you had been, "said Miss Rose nodding. "I hope you took the poor people some nice hotsoup. "

His lordship tried to explain, but without success. Miss Rose persistedin regarding him as a missionary of food and warmth, and spoke feelinglyof the people who had to live in such places. She also warned himagainst the risk of infection. 

"You don't understand, " he repeated, impatiently. "These are nicehouses--nice enough for anybody to live in. If you took soup to peoplelike that, why, they'd throw it at you. "

"Wretches!" murmured the indignant Jane, who was enjoying herselfamazingly. 

His lordship eyed her with sudden suspicion, but her face was quitegrave and bore traces of strong feeling. He explained again, but withoutavail. 

"You never ought to go near such places, my lord, " she concluded, solemnly, as she rose to quit the room. "Even a girl of my station woulddraw the line at that. "

She bowed deeply and withdrew. His lordship sank into a chair and, thrusting his hands into his pockets, gazed gloomily at the driedgrasses in the grate. 

During the next day or two his appetite failed, and other well-knownsymptoms set in. Miss Rose, diagnosing them all, prescribed by stealthsome bitter remedies. The farmer regarded his change of manner withdisapproval, and, concluding that it was due to his own complaints, sought to reassure him. He also pointed out that his daughter's opinionof the aristocracy was hardly likely to increase if the only member sheknew went about the house as though he had just lost his grandmother. 

"You are longing for the gayeties of town, my lord, " he remarked onemorning at breakfast. 

His lordship shook his head. The gayeties comprised, amongst otherthings, a stool and a desk. 

"I don't like town, " he said, with a glance at Jane. "If I had my choiceI would live here always. I would sooner live here in this charming spotwith this charming society than anywhere. "

Mr. Rose coughed and, having caught his eye, shook his head at him andglanced significantly over at the unconscious Jane. The young manignored his action and, having got an opening, gave utterance in thecourse of the next ten minutes to Radical heresies of so violent a typethat the farmer could hardly keep his seat. Social distinctions werecondemned utterly, and the House of Lords referred to as a human dust-bin. The farmer gazed open-mouthed at this snake he had nourished. 

"Your lordship will alter your mind when you get to town, " said Jane, demurely. 

"Never!" declared the other, impressively. 

The girl sighed, and gazing first with much interest at her parent, whoseemed to be doing his best to ward off a fit, turned her lustrous eyesupon the guest. 

"We shall all miss you, " she said, softly. "You've been a lesson to allof us. "

"Lesson?" he repeated, flushing. 

"It has improved our behavior so, having a lord in the house, " said MissRose, with painful humility. "I'm sure father hasn't been like the sameman since you've been here. "

"What d'ye mean Miss?" demanded the farmer, hotly. 

"Don't speak like that before his lordship, father, " said his daughter, hastily. "I'm not blaming you; you're no worse than the other men abouthere. You haven't had an opportunity of learning before, that's all. Itisn't your fault. "

"Learning?" bellowed the farmer, turning an inflamed visage upon hisapprehensive guest. "Have you noticed anything wrong about my behavior?"

"Certainly not, " said his lordship, hastily. 

"All I know is, " continued Miss Rose, positively, "I wish you were goingto stay here another six months for father's sake. "

"Look here--" began Mr. Rose, smiting the table. 

"And Annie's, " said Jane, raising her voice above the din. "I don't knowwhich has improved the most. I'm sure the way they both drink their teanow--"

Mr. Rose pushed his chair back loudly and got up from the table. For amoment he stood struggling for words, then he turned suddenly with agrowl and quitted the room, banging the door after him in a fashionwhich clearly indicated that he still had some lessons to learn. 

"You've made your father angry, " said his lordship. 

"It's for his own good, " said Miss Rose. "Are you really sorry to leaveus?"

"Sorry?" repeated the other. "Sorry is no word for it. "

"You will miss father, " said the girl. 

He sighed gently. 

"And Annie, " she continued. 

He sighed again, and Jane took a slight glance at him cornerwise. 

"And me too, I hope, " she said, in a low voice. 

"_Miss_ you!" repeated his lordship, in a suffocating voice. "Ishould miss the sun less. "

"I am so glad, " said Jane, clasping her hands; "it is so nice to feelthat one is not quite forgotten. Of course, I can never forget you. Youare the only nobleman I have ever met. "

"I hope that it is not only because of that, " he said, forlornly. 

Miss Rose pondered. When she pondered her eyes increased in size andrevealed unsuspected depths. 

"No-o, " she said at length, in a hesitating voice. 

"Suppose that I were not what I am represented to be, " he said slowly. "Suppose that, instead of being Lord Fairmount, I were merely a clerk. "

"A clerk?" repeated Miss Rose, with a very well-managed shudder. "Howcan I suppose such an absurd thing as that?"

"But if I were?" urged his lordship, feverishly. 

"It's no use supposing such a thing as that, " said Miss Rose, briskly;"your high birth is stamped on you. "

His lordship shook his head. "I would sooner be a laborer on this farmthan a king anywhere else, " he said, with feeling. 

Miss Rose drew a pattern on the floor with the toe of her shoe. 

"The poorest laborer on the farm can have the pleasure of looking at youevery day, " continued his lordship passionately. "Every day of his lifehe can see you, and feel a better man for it. "

Miss Rose looked at him sharply. Only the day before the poorest laborerhad seen her--when he wasn't expecting the honor--and received anepitome of his character which had nearly stunned him. But hislordship's face was quite grave. 

"I go to-morrow, " he said. 

"Yes, " said Jane, in a hushed voice. 

He crossed the room gently and took a seat by her side. Miss Rose, stillgazing at the floor, wondered indignantly why it was she was notblushing. His Lordship's conversation had come to a sudden stop and thesilence was most awkward. 

"I've been a fool, Miss Rose, " he said at last, rising and standing overher; "and I've been taking a great liberty. I've been deceiving you fornearly a fortnight. "

"Nonsense!" responded Miss Rose, briskly. 

"I have been deceiving you, " he repeated. "I have made you believe thatI am a person of title. "

"Nonsense!" said Miss Rose again. 

The other started and eyed her uneasily. 

"Nobody would mistake you for a lord, " said Miss Rose, cruelly. "Why, Ishouldn't think that you had ever seen one. You didn't do it at allproperly. Why, your uncle Cray would have done it better. " Mr. Cray'snephew fell back in consternation and eyed her dumbly as she laughed. All mirth is not contagious, and he was easily able to refrain fromjoining in this. 

"I can't understand, " said Miss Rose, as she wiped a tear-dimmed eye--"Ican't understand how you could have thought I should be so stupid. "

"I've been a fool, " said the other, bitterly, as he retreated to thedoor. "Good-by. "

"Good-by, " said Jane. She looked him full in the face, and the blushesfor which she had been waiting came in force. "You needn't go, unlessyou want to, " she said, softly. "I like fools better than lords. "

[Illustration: "'I like fools better than lords. '"]

[Illustration: ALF'S DREAM]

ALF'S DREAM

"I've just been drinking a man's health, " said the night watchman, coming slowly on to the wharf and wiping his mouth with the back of hishand; "he's come in for a matter of three 'undred and twenty pounds, andhe stood me arf a pint--arf a pint!"

He dragged a small empty towards him, and after planing the surface withhis hand sat down and gazed scornfully across the river. 

"Four ale, " he said, with a hard laugh; "and when I asked 'im--just forthe look of the thing, and to give 'im a hint--whether he'd 'aveanother, he said 'yes. '"

The night watchman rose and paced restlessly up and down the jetty. 

"Money, " he said, at last, resuming his wonted calm and lowering himselfcarefully to the box again--"money always gets left to the wrongpeople; some of the kindest-'arted men I've ever known 'ave never had aha'penny left 'em, while teetotaler arter teetotaler wot I've heard of'ave come in for fortins. "

It's 'ard lines though, sometimes, waiting for other people's money. Iknew o' one chap that waited over forty years for 'is grandmother to dieand leave 'im her money; and she died of catching cold at 'is funeral. Another chap I knew, arter waiting years and years for 'is rich aunt todie, was hung because she committed suicide. 

It's always risky work waiting for other people to die and leave youmoney. Sometimes they don't die; sometimes they marry agin; andsometimes they leave it to other people instead. 

Talking of marrying agin reminds me o' something that 'appened to ayoung fellow I knew named Alf Simms. Being an orphan 'e was brought upby his uncle, George Hatchard, a widowed man of about sixty. Alf used togo to sea off and on, but more off than on, his uncle 'aving quite atidy bit of 'ouse property, and it being understood that Alf was to haveit arter he 'ad gone. His uncle used to like to 'ave him at 'ome, andAlf didn't like work, so it suited both parties. 

I used to give Alf a bit of advice sometimes, sixty being a dangerousage for a man, especially when he 'as been a widower for so long he 'ashad time to forget wot being married's like; but I must do Alf thecredit to say it wasn't wanted. He 'ad got a very old 'ead on hisshoulders, and always picked the housekeeper 'imself to save the old manthe trouble. I saw two of 'em, and I dare say I could 'ave seen more, only I didn't want to. 

Cleverness is a good thing in its way, but there's such a thing as beingtoo clever, and the last 'ousekeeper young Alf picked died of old age aweek arter he 'ad gone to sea. She passed away while she was drawingGeorge Hatchard's supper beer, and he lost ten gallons o' the bestbitter ale and his 'ousekeeper at the same time. 

It was four months arter that afore Alf came 'ome, and the fust sight ofthe new 'ousekeeper, wot opened the door to 'im, upset 'im terrible. Shewas the right side o' sixty to begin with, and only ordinary plain. Thenshe was as clean as a new pin, and dressed up as though she was goingout to tea. 

"Oh, you're Alfred, I s'pose?" she ses, looking at 'im. 

"Mr. Simms is my name, " ses young Alf, starting and drawing hisself up. 

"I know you by your portrait, " ses the 'ousekeeper. "Come in. 'Ave you'ad a pleasant v'y'ge? Wipe your boots. "

Alfred wiped 'is boots afore he thought of wot he was doing. Then hedrew hisself up stiff agin and marched into the parlor. 

"Sit down, " ses the 'ousekeeper, in a kind voice. 

Alfred sat down afore he thought wot 'e was doing agin. 

"I always like to see people comfortable, " ses the 'ousekeeper; "it's myway. It's warm weather for the time o' year, ain't it? George isupstairs, but he'll be down in a minute. "

"_Who?_" ses Alf, hardly able to believe his ears. 

"George, " ses the 'ousekeeper. 

"George? George who?" ses Alfred, very severe. 

"Why your uncle, of course, " ses the 'ousekeeper. "Do you think I've gota houseful of Georges?"

Young Alf sat staring at her and couldn't say a word. He noticed thatthe room 'ad been altered, and that there was a big photygraph of herstuck up on the mantelpiece. He sat there fidgeting with 'is feet--untilthe 'ousekeeper looked at them--and then 'e got up and walked upstairs. 

His uncle, wot was sitting on his bed when 'e went into the room andpretended that he 'adn't heard 'im come in, shook hands with 'im asthough he'd never leave off. 

"I've got something to tell you, Alf, " he ses, arter they 'ad said "Howd'ye do?" and he 'ad talked about the weather until Alf was fair tiredof it. 

"I've been and gone and done a foolish thing, and 'ow you'll take it Idon't know. "

"Been and asked the new 'ousekeeper to marry you, I s'pose?" ses Alf, looking at 'im very hard. 

His uncle shook his 'ead. "I never asked 'er; I'd take my Davy Ididn't, " he ses. 

"Well, you ain't going to marry her, then?" ses Alf, brightening up. 

His uncle shook his 'ead agin. "She didn't want no asking, " he ses, speaking very slow and mournful. "I just 'appened to put my arm roundher waist by accident one day and the thing was done. "

"Accident? How could you do it by accident?" ses Alf, firing up. 

"How can I tell you that?" ses George Hatchard. "If I'd known 'ow, itwouldn't 'ave been an accident, would it?"

"Don't you want to marry her?" ses Alf, at last. "You needn't marry 'erif you don't want to. "

George Hatchard looked at 'im and sniffed. "When you know her as well asI do you won't talk so foolish, " he ses. "We'd better go down now, elseshe'll think we've been talking about 'er. "

They went downstairs and 'ad tea together, and young Alf soon see thetruth of his uncle's remarks. Mrs. Pearce--that was the 'ousekeeper'sname--called his uncle "dear" every time she spoke to 'im, and artertea she sat on the sofa side by side with 'im and held his 'and. 

Alf lay awake arf that night thinking things over and 'ow to get Mrs. Pearce out of the house, and he woke up next morning with it still on'is mind. Every time he got 'is uncle alone he spoke to 'im about it, and told 'im to pack Mrs. Pearce off with a month's wages, but GeorgeHatchard wouldn't listen to 'im. 

"She'd 'ave me up for breach of promise and ruin me, " he ses. "She readsthe paper to me every Sunday arternoon, mostly breach of promise cases, and she'd 'ave me up for it as soon as look at me. She's got 'eaps and'eaps of love-letters o' mine. "

"Love-letters!" ses Alf, staring. "Love-letters when you live in thesame house!"

"She started it, " ses his uncle; "she pushed one under my door onemorning, and I 'ad to answer it. She wouldn't come down and get mybreakfast till I did. I have to send her one every morning. "

"Do you sign 'em with your own name?" ses Alf, arter thinking a bit. 

"No, " ses 'is uncle, turning red. 

"Wot do you sign 'em, then?" ses Alf. 

"Never you mind, " ses his uncle, turning redder. "It's my handwriting, and that's good enough for her. I did try writing backwards, but I onlydid it once. I wouldn't do it agin for fifty pounds. You ought to ha'heard 'er. "

"If 'er fust husband was alive she couldn't marry you, " ses Alf, veryslow and thoughtful. 

"No, " ses his uncle, nasty-like; "and if I was an old woman she couldn'tmarry me. You know as well as I do that he went down with the _EveningStar_ fifteen years ago. "

"So far as she knows, " ses Alf; "but there was four of them saved, sowhy not five? Mightn't 'e have floated away on a spar or something andbeen picked up? Can't you dream it three nights running, and tell 'erthat you feel certain sure he's alive?"

"If I dreamt it fifty times it wouldn't make any difference, " ses GeorgeHatchard. "Here! wot are you up to? 'Ave you gone mad, or wot? You pokeme in the ribs like that agin if you dare. "

"Her fust 'usband's alive, " ses Alf, smiling at 'im. 

"_Wot?_" ses his uncle. 

"He floated away on a bit o' wreckage, " ses Alf, nodding at 'im, "justlike they do in books, and was picked up more dead than alive and tookto Melbourne. He's now living up-country working on a sheep station. "

"Who's dreaming now?" ses his uncle. 

"It's a fact, " ses Alf. "I know a chap wot's met 'im and talked to 'im. She can't marry you while he's alive, can she?"

"Certainly _not_, " ses George Hatchard, trembling all over; "butare you sure you 'aven't made a mistake?"

"Certain sure, " ses Alf. 

"It's too good to be true, " ses George Hatchard. 

"O' course it is, " ses Alf, "but she won't know that. Look 'ere; youwrite down all the things that she 'as told you about herself and giveit to me, and I'll soon find the chap I spoke of wot's met 'im. He'dmeet a dozen men if it was made worth his while. "

George Hatchard couldn't understand 'im at fust, and when he did hewouldn't 'ave a hand in it because it wasn't the right thing to do, andbecause he felt sure that Mrs. Pearce would find it out. But at last 'ewrote out all about her for Alf; her maiden name, and where she wasborn, and everything; and then he told Alf that, if 'e dared to playsuch a trick on an unsuspecting, loving woman, he'd never forgive 'im. 

"I shall want a couple o' quid, " ses Alf. 

"Certainly not, " ses his uncle. "I won't 'ave nothing to do with it, Itell you. "

"Only to buy chocolates with, " ses Alf. 

"Oh, all right, " ses George Hatchard; and he went upstairs to 'isbedroom and came down with three pounds and gave 'im. "If that ain'tenough, " he ses, "let me know, and you can 'ave more. "

Alf winked at 'im, but the old man drew hisself up and stared at 'im, and then 'e turned and walked away with his 'ead in the air. 

He 'ardly got a chance of speaking to Alf next day, Mrs. Pearce being'ere, there, and everywhere, as the saying is, and finding so manylittle odd jobs for Alf to do that there was no time for talking. Butthe day arter he sidled up to 'im when the 'ouse-keeper was out of theroom and asked 'im whether he 'ad bought the chocolates. 

"Yes, " ses Alfred, taking one out of 'is pocket and eating it, "some of'em. "

George Hatchard coughed and fidgeted about. "When are you going to buythe others?" he ses. 

"As I want 'em, " ses Alf. "They'd spoil if I got 'em all at once. "

George Hatchard coughed agin. "I 'ope you haven't been going on withthat wicked plan you spoke to me about the other night, " he ses. 

"Certainly not, " ses Alf, winking to 'imself; "not arter wot you said. How could I?"

"That's right, " ses the old man. "I'm sorry for this marriage for yoursake, Alf. O' course, I was going to leave you my little bit of 'ouseproperty, but I suppose now it'll 'ave to be left to her. Well, well, Is'pose it's best for a young man to make his own way in the world. "

"I s'pose so, " ses Alf. 

"Mrs. Pearce was asking only yesterday when you was going back to seaagin, " ses his uncle, looking at 'im. 

"Oh!" ses Alf. 

"She's took a dislike to you, I think, " ses the old man. "It's very'ard, my fav'rite nephew, and the only one I've got. I forgot to tellyou the other day that her fust 'usband, Charlie Pearce, 'ad a kind of awart on 'is left ear. She's often spoke to me about it. "

"In--deed!" ses Alf. 

"Yes, " ses his uncle, "_left_ ear, and a scar on his forehead wherea friend of his kicked 'im one day. "

Alf nodded, and then he winked at 'im agin. George Hatchard didn't winkback, but he patted 'im on the shoulder and said 'ow well he was fillingout, and 'ow he got more like 'is pore mother every day he lived. 

[Illustration: "He patted 'im on the shoulder and said 'ow well he wasfilling out. "]

"I 'ad a dream last night, " ses Alf. "I dreamt that a man I know namedBill Flurry, but wot called 'imself another name in my dream, and didn'tknow me then, came 'ere one evening when we was all sitting down atsupper, Joe Morgan and 'is missis being here, and said as 'ow Mrs. Pearce's fust husband was alive and well. "

"That's a very odd dream, " ses his uncle; "but wot was Joe Morgan andhis missis in it for?"

"Witnesses, " ses Alf. 

George Hatchard fell over a footstool with surprise. "Go on, " he ses, rubbing his leg. "It's a queer thing, but I was going to ask the Morgans'ere to spend the evening next Wednesday. "

"Or was it Tuesday?" ses Alf, considering. 

"I said Tuesday, " ses his uncle, looking over Alf's 'ead so that heneedn't see 'im wink agin. "Wot was the end of your dream, Alf?"

"The end of it was, " ses Alf, "that you and Mrs. Pearce was both verymuch upset, as o' course you couldn't marry while 'er fust was alive, and the last thing I see afore I woke up was her boxes standing at thefront door waiting for a cab. "

George Hatchard was going to ask 'im more about it, but just then Mrs. Pearce came in with a pair of Alf's socks that he 'ad been untidy enoughto leave in the middle of the floor instead of chucking 'em under thebed. She was so unpleasant about it that, if it hadn't ha' been for thethought of wot was going to 'appen on Tuesday, Alf couldn't ha' stoodit. 

For the next day or two George Hatchard was in such a state ofnervousness and excitement that Alf was afraid that the 'ousekeeperwould notice it. On Tuesday morning he was trembling so much that shesaid he'd got a chill, and she told 'im to go to bed and she'd make 'ima nice hot mustard poultice. George was afraid to say "no, " but whileshe was in the kitchen making the poultice he slipped out for a walk andcured 'is trembling with three whiskies. Alf nearly got the poulticeinstead, she was so angry. 

She was unpleasant all dinner-time, but she got better in the arternoon, and when the Morgans came in the evening, and she found that Mrs. Morgan'ad got a nasty sort o' red swelling on her nose, she got quite good-tempered. She talked about it nearly all supper-time, telling 'er whatshe ought to do to it, and about a friend of hers that 'ad one and 'adto turn teetotaler on account of it. 

"My nose is good enough for me, " ses Mrs. Morgan, at last. 

"It don't affect 'er appetite, " ses George Hatchard, trying to makethings pleasant, "and that's the main thing. "

Mrs. Morgan got up to go, but arter George Hatchard 'ad explained wot hedidn't mean she sat down agin and began to talk to Mrs. Pearce about 'erdress and 'ow beautifully it was made. And she asked Mrs. Pearce to give'er the pattern of it, because she should 'ave one like it herself whenshe was old enough. "I do like to see people dressed suitable, " she ses, with a smile. 

"I think you ought to 'ave a much deeper color than this, " ses Mrs. Pearce, considering. 

"Not when I'm faded, " ses Mrs. Morgan. 

Mrs. Pearce, wot was filling 'er glass at the time, spilt a lot of beerall over the tablecloth, and she was so cross about it that she sat likea stone statue for pretty near ten minutes. By the time supper wasfinished people was passing things to each other in whispers, and when abit o' cheese went the wrong way with Joe Morgan he nearly suffocated'imself for fear of making a noise. 

They 'ad a game o' cards arter supper, counting twenty nuts as a penny, and everybody got more cheerful. They was all laughing and talking, andJoe Morgan was pretending to steal Mrs. Pearce's nuts, when GeorgeHatchard held up his 'and. 

"Somebody at the street door, I think, " he ses. 

Young Alf got up to open it, and they 'eard a man's voice in the passageasking whether Mrs. Pearce lived there, and the next moment Alf cameinto the room, followed by Bill Flurry. 

"Here's a gentleman o' the name o' Smith asking arter you, " he ses, looking at Mrs. Pearce. 

"Wot d'you want?" ses Mrs. Pearce rather sharp. 

"It is 'er, " ses Bill, stroking his long white beard and casting 'iseyes up at the ceiling. "You don't remember me, Mrs. Pearce, but I usedto see you years ago, when you and poor Charlie Pearce was living downPoplar way. "

"Well, wot about it?" ses Mrs. Pearce. 

"I'm coming to it, " ses Bill Flurry. "I've been two months trying tofind you, so there's no need to be in a hurry for a minute or two. Besides, what I've got to say ought to be broke gently, in case youfaint away with joy. "

"Rubbish!" ses Mrs. Pearce. "I ain't the fainting sort. "

"I 'ope it's nothing unpleasant, " ses George Hatchard, pouring 'im out aglass of whisky. 

"Quite the opposite, " ses Bill. "It's the best news she's 'eard forfifteen years. "

"Are you going to tell me wot you want, or ain't you?" ses Mrs. Pearce. 

"I'm coming to it, " ses Bill. "Six months ago I was in Melbourne, andone day I was strolling about looking in at the shop-winders, when allat once I thought I see a face I knew. It was a good bit older than whenI see it last, and the whiskers was gray, but I says to myself--"

"I can see wot's coming, " ses Mrs. Morgan, turning red with excitementand pinching Joe's arm. 

"I ses to myself, " ses Bill Flurry, "either that's a ghost, I ses orelse it's Charlie--"

"Go on, " ses George Hatchard, as was sitting with 'is fists clinched onthe table and 'is eyes wide open, staring at 'im. 

"Pearce, " ses Bill Flurry. 

You might 'ave heard a pin drop. They all sat staring at 'im, and thenGeorge Hatchard took out 'is handkerchief and 'eld it up to 'is face. 

"But he was drownded in the _Evening Star_, " ses Joe Morgan. 

Bill Flurry didn't answer 'im. He poured out pretty near a tumbler ofwhisky and offered it to Mrs. Pearce, but she pushed it away, and, arterlooking round in a 'elpless sort of way and shaking his 'ead once ortwice, he finished it up 'imself. 

"It couldn't 'ave been 'im, " ses George Hatchard, speaking through 'ishandkerchief. "I can't believe it. It's too cruel. "

"I tell you it was 'im, " ses Bill. "He floated off on a spar when theship went down, and was picked up two days arterwards by a bark andtaken to New Zealand. He told me all about it, and he told me if ever Isaw 'is wife to give her 'is kind regards. "

"_Kind regards_!" ses Joe Morgan, starting up. "Why didn't he let'is wife know 'e was alive?"

"That's wot I said to 'im, " ses Bill Flurry; "but he said he 'ad 'isreasons. "

"Ah, to be sure, " ses Mrs. Morgan, nodding. "Why, you and her can't bemarried now, " she ses, turning to George Hatchard. 

"Married?" ses Bill Flurry with a start, as George Hatchard gave a groanthat surprised 'imself. "Good gracious! what a good job I found 'er!"

"I s'pose you don't know where he is to be found now?" ses Mrs. Pearce, in a low voice, turning to Bill. 

"I do not, ma'am, " ses Bill, "but I think you'd find 'im somewhere inAustralia. He keeps changing 'is name and shifting about, but I dare sayyou'd 'ave as good a chance of finding 'im as anybody. "

"It's a terrible blow to me, " ses George Hatchard, dabbing his eyes. 

"I know it is, " ses Mrs. Pearce; "but there, you men are all alike. Idare say if this hadn't turned up you'd ha' found something else. "

"Oh, 'ow can you talk like that?" ses George Hatchard, very reproachful. "It's the only thing in the world that could 'ave prevented our gettingmarried. I'm surprised at you. "

"Well, that's all right, then, " ses Mrs. Pearce, "and we'll get marriedafter all. "

"But you can't, " ses Alf. 

"It's bigamy, " ses Joe Morgan. 

"You'd get six months, " ses his wife. 

"Don't you worry, dear, " ses Mrs. Pearce, nodding at George Hatchard;"that man's made a mistake. "

"Mistake!" ses Bill Flurry. "Why, I tell you I talked to 'im. It wasCharlie Pearce right enough; scar on 'is forehead and a wart on 'is leftear and all. "

"It's wonderful, " ses Mrs. Pearce. "I can't think where you got it allfrom. "

"Got it all from?" ses Bill, staring at her. "Why, from 'im. "

"Oh, of course, " ses Mrs. Pearce. "I didn't think of that; but that onlymakes it the more wonderful, doesn't it?--because, you see, he didn't goon the _Evening Star_. "

"_Wot_?" ses George Hatchard. "Why you told me yourself--"

"I know I did, " ses Mrs. Pearce, "but that was only just to spare yourfeelings. Charlie _was_ going to sea in her, but he was prevented. "

"Prevented?" ses two or three of 'em. 

"Yes, " ses Mrs. Pearce; "the night afore he was to 'ave sailed there wassome silly mistake over a diamond ring, and he got five years. He gave adifferent name at the police-station, and naturally everybody thought 'ewent down with the ship. And when he died in prison I didn't undeceive'em. "

She took out her 'andkerchief, and while she was busy with it BillFlurry got up and went out on tiptoe. Young Alf got up a second or twoarterwards to see where he'd gone; and the last Joe Morgan and hismissis see of the happy couple they was sitting on one chair, and GeorgeHatchard was making desprit and 'artrending attempts to smile. 

[Illustration: A DISTANT RELATIVE]

A DISTANT RELATIVE

Mr. Potter had just taken Ethel Spriggs into the kitchen to say good-by; in the small front room Mr. Spriggs, with his fingers alreadyfumbling at the linen collar of ceremony, waited impatiently. 

"They get longer and longer over their good-bys, " he complained. 

"It's only natural, " said Mrs. Spriggs, looking up from a piece of finesewing. "Don't you remember--"

"No, I don't, " said her husband, doggedly. "I know that your pore fathernever 'ad to put on a collar for me; and, mind you, I won't wear oneafter they're married, not if you all went on your bended knees andasked me to. "

He composed his face as the door opened, and nodded good-night to therather over-dressed young man who came through the room with hisdaughter. 

The latter opened the front-door and passing out with Mr. Potter, heldit slightly open. A penetrating draught played upon the exasperated Mr. Spriggs. He coughed loudly. 

"Your father's got a cold, " said Mr. Potter, in a concerned voice. 

"No; it's only too much smoking, " said the girl. "He's smoking all daylong. "

The indignant Mr. Spriggs coughed again; but the young people had founda new subject of conversation. It ended some minutes later in a playfulscuffle, during which the door acted the part of a ventilating fan. 

"It's only for another fortnight, " said Mrs. Spriggs, hastily, as herhusband rose. 

"After they're spliced, " said the vindictive Mr. Spriggs, resuming hisseat, "I'll go round and I'll play about with their front-door till--"

He broke off abruptly as his daughter, darting into the room, closed thedoor with a bang that nearly extinguished the lamp, and turned the key. Before her flushed and laughing face Mr. Spriggs held his peace. 

"What's the matter?" she asked, eying him. "What are you looking likethat for?"

"Too much draught--for your mother, " said Mr. Spriggs, feebly. "I'mafraid of her asthma agin. "

He fell to work on the collar once more, and, escaping at last from theclutches of that enemy, laid it on the table and unlaced his boots. Anattempt to remove his coat was promptly frustrated by his daughter. 

"You'll get doing it when you come round to see us, " she explained. 

Mr. Spriggs sighed, and lighting a short clay pipe--forbidden in thepresence of his future son-in-law--fell to watching mother and daughteras they gloated over dress materials and discussed double-widths. 

"Anybody who can't be 'appy with her, " he said, half an hour later, ashis daughter slapped his head by way of bidding him good-night, andretired, "don't deserve to be 'appy. "

"I wish it was over, " whispered his wife. "She'll break her heart ifanything happens, and--and Gussie will be out now in a day or two. "

"A gal can't 'elp what her uncle does, " said Mr. Spriggs, fiercely; "ifAlfred throws her over for that, he's no man. "

"Pride is his great fault, " said his wife, mournfully. 

"It's no good taking up troubles afore they come, " observed Mr. Spriggs. "P'r'aps Gussie won't come 'ere. "

"He'll come straight here, " said his wife, with conviction; "he'll comestraight here and try and make a fuss of me, same as he used to do whenwe was children and I'd got a ha'penny. I know him. "

"Cheer up, old gal, " said Mr. Spriggs; "if he does, we must try and getrid of 'im; and, if he won't go, we must tell Alfred that he's been toAustralia, same as we did Ethel. "

His wife smiled faintly. 

"That's the ticket, " continued Mr. Spriggs. "For one thing, I b'leevehe'll be ashamed to show his face here; but, if he does, he's come backfrom Australia. See? It'll make it nicer for 'im too. You don't supposehe wants to boast of where he's been?"

"And suppose he comes while Alfred is here?" said his wife. 

"Then I say, 'How 'ave you left 'em all in Australia?' and wink at him, "said the ready Mr. Spriggs. 

"And s'pose you're not here?" objected his wife. 

"Then you say it and wink at him, " was the reply. "No; I know youcan't, " he added, hastily, as Mrs. Spriggs raised another objection;"you've been too well brought up. Still, you can try. "

It was a slight comfort to Mrs. Spriggs that Mr. Augustus Price did, after all, choose a convenient time for his reappearance. A faint knocksounded on the door two days afterwards as she sat at tea with herhusband, and an anxious face with somewhat furtive eyes was thrust intothe room. 

"Emma!" said a mournful voice, as the upper part of the intruder's bodyfollowed the face. 

"Gussie!" said Mrs. Spriggs, rising in disorder. 

Mr. Price drew his legs into the room, and, closing the door withextraordinary care, passed the cuff of his coat across his eyes andsurveyed them tenderly. 

"I've come home to die, " he said, slowly, and, tottering across theroom, embraced his sister with much unction. 

"What are you going to die of?" inquired Mr. Spriggs, reluctantlyaccepting the extended hand. 

"Broken 'art, George, " replied his brother-in-law, sinking into a chair. 

Mr. Spriggs grunted, and, moving his chair a little farther away, watched the intruder as his wife handed him a plate. A troubled glancefrom his wife reminded him of their arrangements for the occasion, andhe cleared his throat several times in vain attempts to begin. 

"I'm sorry that we can't ask you to stay with us, Gussie, 'specially asyou're so ill, " he said, at last; "but p'r'aps you'll be better afterpicking a bit. "

Mr. Price, who was about to take a slice of bread and butter, refrained, and, closing his eyes, uttered a faint moan. "I sha'n't last the night, "he muttered. 

"That's just it, " said Mr. Spriggs, eagerly. "You see, Ethel is going tobe married in a fortnight, and if you died here that would put it off. "

"I might last longer if I was took care of, " said the other, opening hiseyes. 

"And, besides, Ethel don't know where you've been, " continued Mr. Spriggs. "We told 'er that you had gone to Australia. She's going tomarry a very partikler young chap--a grocer--and if he found it out itmight be awk'ard. "

Mr. Price closed his eyes again, but the lids quivered. 

"It took 'im some time to get over me being a bricklayer, " pursued Mr. Spriggs. "What he'd say to you--"

"Tell 'im I've come back from Australia, if you like, " said Mr. Price, faintly. "I don't mind. "

Mr. Spriggs cleared his throat again. "But, you see, we told Ethel asyou was doing well out there, " he said, with an embarrassed laugh, "andgirl-like, and Alfred talking a good deal about his relations, she--she's made the most of it. "

"It don't matter, " said the complaisant Mr. Price; "you say what youlike. I sha'n't interfere with you. "

"But, you see, you don't look as though you've been making money, " saidhis sister, impatiently. "Look at your clothes. "

Mr. Price held up his hand. "That's easy got over, " he remarked; "whileI'm having a bit of tea George can go out and buy me some new ones. Youget what you think I should look richest in, George--a black tail-coatwould be best, I should think, but I leave it to you. A bit of a fancywaistcoat, p'r'aps, lightish trousers, and a pair o' nice boots, easysevens. "

He sat upright in his chair and, ignoring the look of consternation thatpassed between husband and wife, poured himself out a cup of tea andtook a slice of cake. 

"Have you got any money?" said Mr. Spriggs, after a long pause. 

"I left it behind me--in Australia, " said Mr. Price, with ill-timedfacetiousness. 

"Getting better, ain't you?" said his brother-in-law, sharply. "How'sthat broken 'art getting on?"

"It'll go all right under a fancy waistcoat, " was the reply; "and whileyou're about it, George, you'd better get me a scarf-pin, and, if you_could_ run to a gold watch and chain--"

He was interrupted by a frenzied outburst from Mr. Spriggs; a somewhatincoherent summary of Mr. Price's past, coupled with unlawful andheathenish hopes for his future. 

"You're wasting time, " said Mr. Price, calmly, as he paused for breath. "Don't get 'em if you don't want to. I'm trying to help you, that's all. I don't mind anybody knowing where I've been. I was innercent. If youwill give way to sinful pride you must pay for it. "

Mr. Spriggs, by a great effort, regained his self-control. "Will you goaway if I give you a quid?" he asked, quietly. 

"No, " said Mr. Price, with a placid smile. "I've got a better idea ofthe value of money than that. Besides, I want to see my dear niece, andsee whether that young man's good enough for her. "

"Two quid?" suggested his brother-in-law. 

Mr. Price shook his head. "I couldn't do it, " he said, calmly. "Injustice to myself I couldn't do it. You'll be feeling lonely when youlose Ethel, and I'll stay and keep you company. "

The bricklayer nearly broke out again; but, obeying a glance from hiswife, closed his lips and followed her obediently upstairs. Mr. Price, filling his pipe from a paper of tobacco on the mantelpiece, winked athimself encouragingly in the glass, and smiled gently as he heard thechinking of coins upstairs. 

"Be careful about the size, " he said, as Mr. Spriggs came down and tookhis hat from a nail; "about a couple of inches shorter than yourself andnot near so much round the waist. "

Mr. Spriggs regarded him sternly for a few seconds, and then, closingthe door with a bang, went off down the street. Left alone, Mr. Pricestrolled about the room investigating, and then, drawing an easy-chairup to the fire, put his feet on the fender and relapsed into thought. 

Two hours later he sat in the same place, a changed and resplendentbeing. His thin legs were hidden in light check trousers, and thecompanion waistcoat to Joseph's Coat graced the upper part of his body. A large chrysanthemum in the button-hole of his frock-coat completed thepicture of an Australian millionaire, as understood by Mr. Spriggs. 

"A nice watch and chain, and a little money in my pockets, and I shallbe all right, " murmured Mr. Price. 

"You won't get any more out o' me, " said Mr. Spriggs, fiercely. "I'vespent every farthing I've got. "

"Except what's in the bank, " said his brother-in-law. "It'll take you aday or two to get at it, I know. S'pose we say Saturday for the watchand chain?"

Mr. Spriggs looked helplessly at his wife, but she avoided his gaze. Heturned and gazed in a fascinated fashion at Mr. Price, and received acheerful nod in return. 

"I'll come with you and help choose it, " said the latter. "It'll saveyou trouble if it don't save your pocket. "

He thrust his hands in his trouser-pockets and, spreading his legs wideapart, tilted his head back and blew smoke to the ceiling. He was in thesame easy position when Ethel arrived home accompanied by Mr. Potter. 

"It's--it's your Uncle Gussie, " said Mrs. Spriggs, as the girl stoodeying the visitor. 

"From Australia, " said her husband, thickly. 

Mr. Price smiled, and his niece, noticing that he removed his pipe andwiped his lips with the back of his hand, crossed over and kissed hiseyebrow. Mr. Potter was then introduced and received a graciousreception, Mr. Price commenting on the extraordinary likeness he bore toa young friend of his who had just come in for forty thousand a year. 

"That's nearly as much as you're worth, uncle, isn't it?" inquired MissSpriggs, daringly. 

Mr. Price shook his head at her and pondered. "Rather more, " he said, atlast, "rather more. "

[Illustration: "Mr. Potter was then introduced and received a graciousreception. "]

Mr. Potter caught his breath sharply; Mr. Spriggs, who was stooping toget a light for his pipe, nearly fell into the fire. There was animpressive silence. 

"Money isn't everything, " said Mr. Price, looking round and shaking hishead. "It's not much good, except to give away. "

His eye roved round the room and came to rest finally upon Mr. Potter. The young man noticed with a thrill that it beamed with benevolence. 

"Fancy coming over without saying a word to anybody, and taking us allby surprise like this!" said Ethel. 

"I felt I must see you all once more before I died, " said her uncle, simply. "Just a flying visit I meant it to be, but your father andmother won't hear of my going back just yet. "

"Of course not, " said Ethel, who was helping the silent Mrs. Spriggs tolay supper. 

"When I talked of going your father 'eld me down in my chair, " continuedthe veracious Mr. Price. 

"Quite right, too, " said the girl. "Now draw your chair up and have somesupper, and tell us all about Australia. "

Mr. Price drew his chair up, but, as to talking about Australia, he saidungratefully that he was sick of the name of the place, and preferredinstead to discuss the past and future of Mr. Potter. He learned, amongother things, that that gentleman was of a careful and thriftydisposition, and that his savings, augmented by a lucky legacy, amountedto a hundred and ten pounds. 

"Alfred is going to stay with Palmer and Mays for another year, and thenwe shall take a business of our own, " said Ethel. 

"Quite right, " said Mr. Price. "I like to see young people make theirown way, " he added meaningly. "It's good for 'em. "

It was plain to all that he had taken a great fancy to Mr. Potter. Hediscussed the grocery trade with the air of a rich man seeking a goodinvestment, and threw out dark hints about returning to England after afinal visit to Australia and settling down in the bosom of his family. He accepted a cigar from Mr. Potter after supper, and, when the youngman left--at an unusually late hour--walked home with him. 

It was the first of several pleasant evenings, and Mr. Price, who hadbought a book dealing with Australia from a second-hand bookstall, nolonger denied them an account of his adventures there. A gold watch andchain, which had made a serious hole in his brother-in-law's SavingsBank account, lent an air of substance to his waistcoat, and a pin ofexcellent paste sparkled in his neck-tie. Under the influence of goodfood and home comforts he improved every day, and the unfortunate Mr. Spriggs was at his wits' end to resist further encroachments. From thesecond day of their acquaintance he called Mr. Potter "Alf, " and theyoung people listened with great attention to his discourse on "Money:How to Make It and How to Keep It. "

His own dealings with Mr. Spriggs afforded an example which he did notquote. Beginning with shillings, he led up to half-crowns, and, encouraged by success, one afternoon boldly demanded a half-sovereign tobuy a wedding-present with. Mrs. Spriggs drew her over-wrought husbandinto the kitchen and argued with him in whispers. 

"Give him what he wants till they're married, " she entreated; "afterthat Alfred can't help himself, and it'll be as much to his interest tokeep quiet as anybody else. "

Mr. Spriggs, who had been a careful man all his life, found the half-sovereign and a few new names, which he bestowed upon Mr. Price at thesame time. The latter listened unmoved. In fact, a bright eye and apleasant smile seemed to indicate that he regarded them rather in thenature of compliments than otherwise. 

"I telegraphed over to Australia this morning, " he said, as they all satat supper that evening. 

[Illustration: "A gold watch and chain lent an air of substance to hiswaistcoat. "]

"About my money?" said Mr. Potter, eagerly. 

Mr. Price frowned at him swiftly. "No; telling my head clerk to sendover a wedding-present for you, " he said, his face softening under theeye of Mr. Spriggs. "I've got just the thing for you there. I can't seeanything good enough over here. "

The young couple were warm in their thanks. 

"What did you mean, about your money?" inquired Mr. Spriggs, turning tohis future son-in-law. 

"Nothing, " said the young man, evasively. 

"It's a secret, " said Mr. Price. 

"What about?" persisted Mr. Spriggs, raising his voice. 

"It's a little private business between me and Uncle Gussie, " said Mr. Potter, somewhat stiffly. 

"You--you haven't been lending him money?" stammered the bricklayer. 

"Don't be silly, father, " said Miss Spriggs, sharply. "What good wouldAlfred's little bit o' money be to Uncle Gussie? If you must know, Alfred is drawing it out for uncle to invest it for him. "

The eyes of Mr. And Mrs. Spriggs and Mr. Price engaged in a triangularduel. The latter spoke first. 

"I'm putting it into my business for him, " he said, with a threateningglance, "in Australia. "

"And he didn't want his generosity known, " added Mr. Potter. 

The bewildered Mr. Spriggs looked helplessly round the table. His wife'sfoot pressed his, and like a mechanical toy his lips snapped together. 

"I didn't know you had got your money handy, " said Mrs. Spriggs, intrembling tones. 

"I made special application, and I'm to have it on Friday, " said Mr. Potter, with a smile. "You don't get a chance like that every day. "

He filled Uncle Gussie's glass for him, and that gentleman at onceraised it and proposed the health of the young couple. "If anything wasto 'appen to break it off now, " he said, with a swift glance at hissister, "they'd be miserable for life, I can see that. "

"Miserable for ever, " assented Mr. Potter, in a sepulchral voice, as hesqueezed the hand of Miss Spriggs under the table. 

"It's the only thing worth 'aving--love, " continued Mr. Price, watchinghis brother-in-law out of the corner of his eye. "Money is nothing. "

Mr. Spriggs emptied his glass and, knitting his brows, drew patterns onthe cloth with the back of his knife. His wife's foot was still pressingon his, and he waited for instructions. 

For once, however, Mrs. Spriggs had none to give. Even when Mr. Potterhad gone and Ethel had retired upstairs she was still voiceless. She satfor some time looking at the fire and stealing an occasional glance atUncle Gussie as he smoked a cigar; then she arose and bent over herhusband. 

"Do what you think best, " she said, in a weary voice. "Good-night. "

"What about that money of young Alfred's?" demanded Mr. Spriggs, as thedoor closed behind her. 

"I'm going to put it in my business, " said Uncle Gussie, blandly; "mybusiness in Australia. "

"Ho! You've got to talk to me about that first, " said the other. 

His brother-in-law leaned back and smoked with placid enjoyment. "You dowhat you like, " he said, easily. "Of course, if you tell Alfred, Isha'n't get the money, and Ethel won't get 'im. Besides that, he'll findout what lies you've been telling. "

"I wonder you can look me in the face, " said the raging bricklayer. 

"And I should give him to understand that you were going shares in thehundred and ten pounds and then thought better of it, " said the unmovedMr. Price. "He's the sort o' young chap as'll believe anything. Bless'im!"

Mr. Spriggs bounced up from his chair and stood over him with his fistsclinched. Mr. Price glared defiance. 

"If you're so partikler you can make it up to him, " he said, slowly. "You've been a saving man, I know, and Emma 'ad a bit left her that Iought to have 'ad. When you've done play-acting I'll go to bed. Solong!"

He got up, yawning, and walked to the door, and Mr. Spriggs, after amomentary idea of breaking him in pieces and throwing him out into thestreet, blew out the lamp and went upstairs to discuss the matter withhis wife until morning. 

Mr. Spriggs left for his work next day with the question stillundecided, but a pretty strong conviction that Mr. Price would have tohave his way. The wedding was only five days off, and the house was in abustle of preparation. A certain gloom which he could not shake off heattributed to a raging toothache, turning a deaf ear to the variousremedies suggested by Uncle Gussie, and the name of an excellent dentistwho had broken a tooth of Mr. Potter's three times before extracting it. 

Uncle Gussie he treated with bare civility in public, and to blood-curdling threats in private. Mr. Price, ascribing the latter to thetoothache, also varied his treatment to his company; prescribing whiskyheld in the mouth, and other agreeable remedies when there werelisteners, and recommending him to fill his mouth with cold water andsit on the fire till it boiled, when they were alone. 

He was at his worst on Thursday morning; on Thursday afternoon he camehome a bright and contented man. He hung his cap on the nail with aflourish, kissed his wife, and, in full view of the disapproving Mr. Price, executed a few clumsy steps on the hearthrug. 

"Come in for a fortune?" inquired the latter, eying him sourly. 

"No; I've saved one, " replied Mr. Spriggs, gayly. "I wonder I didn'tthink of it myself. "

"Think of what?" inquired Mr. Price. 

"You'll soon know, " said Mr. Spriggs, "and you've only got yourself tothank for it. "

Uncle Gussie sniffed suspiciously; Mrs. Spriggs pressed for particulars. 

"I've got out of the difficulty, " said her husband, drawing his chair tothe tea-table. "Nobody'll suffer but Gussie. "

"Ho!" said that gentleman, sharply. 

"I took the day off, " said Mr. Spriggs, smiling contentedly at his wife, "and went to see a friend of mine, Bill White the policeman, and toldhim about Gussie. "

Mr. Price stiffened in his chair. 

"Acting--under--his--advice, " said Mr. Spriggs, sipping his tea, "Iwrote to Scotland Yard and told 'em that Augustus Price, ticket-of-leaveman, was trying to obtain a hundred and ten pounds by false pretences. "

Mr. Price, white and breathless, rose and confronted him. 

"The beauty o' that is, as Bill says, " continued Mr. Spriggs, with muchenjoyment, "that Gussie'll 'ave to set out on his travels again. He'llhave to go into hiding, because if they catch him he'll 'ave to finishhis time. And Bill says if he writes letters to any of us it'll onlymake it easier to find him. You'd better take the first train toAustralia, Gussie. "

"What--what time did you post--the letter?" inquired Uncle Gussie, jerkily. 

"'Bout two o'clock, " said Mr. Spriggs, glaring at the clock. "I reckonyou've just got time. "

Mr. Price stepped swiftly to the small sideboard, and, taking up hishat, clapped it on. He paused a moment at the door to glance up and downthe street, and then the door closed softly behind him. Mrs. Spriggslooked at her husband. 

"Called away to Australia by special telegram, " said the latter, winking. "Bill White is a trump; that's what he is. "

"Oh, George!" said his wife. "Did you really write that letter?"

Mr. Spriggs winked again. 

[Illustration: THE TEST]

THE TEST

Pebblesea was dull, and Mr. Frederick Dix, mate of the ketch_Starfish_, after a long and unsuccessful quest for amusement, returned to the harbor with an idea of forgetting his disappointment insleep. The few shops in the High Street were closed, and the onlyentertainment offered at the taverns was contained in glass and pewter. The attitude of the landlord of the "Pilots' Hope, " where Mr. Dix hadsought to enliven the proceedings by a song and dance, still rankled inhis memory. 

The skipper and the hands were still ashore and the ketch looked solonely that the mate, thinking better of his idea of retiring, thrusthis hands deep in his pockets and sauntered round the harbor. It wasnearly dark, and the only other man visible stood at the edge of thequay gazing at the water. He stood for so long that the mate's easilyaroused curiosity awoke, and, after twice passing, he edged up to himand ventured a remark on the fineness of the night. 

"The night's all right, " said the young man, gloomily. 

"You're rather near the edge, " said the mate, after a pause. 

"I like being near the edge, " was the reply. 

Mr. Dix whistled softly and, glancing up at the tall, white-faced youngman before him, pushed his cap back and scratched his head. 

"Ain't got anything on your mind, have you?" he inquired. 

The young man groaned and turned away, and the mate, scenting a littleexcitement, took him gently by the coat-sleeve and led him from thebrink. Sympathy begets confidence, and, within the next ten minutes, hehad learned that Arthur Heard, rejected by Emma Smith, was contemplatingthe awful crime of self-destruction. 

"Why, I've known 'er for seven years, " said Mr. Heard; "seven years, andthis is the end of it. "

The mate shook his head. 

"I told 'er I was coming straight away to drownd myself, " pursued Mr. Heard. "My last words to 'er was, 'When you see my bloated corpse you'llbe sorry. '"

"I expect she'll cry and carry on like anything, " said the mate, politely. 

The other turned and regarded him. "Why, you don't think I'm going to, do you?" he inquired, sharply. "Why, I wouldn't drownd myself for fiftyblooming gells. "

"But what did you tell her you were going to for, then?" demanded thepuzzled mate. 

"'Cos I thought it would upset 'er and make 'er give way, " said theother, bitterly; "and all it done was to make 'er laugh as though she'd'ave a fit. "

"It would serve her jolly well right if you did drown yourself, " saidMr. Dix, judiciously. "It 'ud spoil her life for her. "

"Ah, and it wouldn't spoil mine, I s'pose?" rejoined Mr. Heard, withferocious sarcasm. 

"How she will laugh when she sees you to-morrow, " mused the mate. "Isshe the sort of girl that would spread it about?"

Mr. Heard said that she was, and, forgetting for a moment his greatlove, referred to her partiality for gossip in the most scathing termshe could muster. The mate, averse to such a tame ending to a promisingadventure, eyed him thoughtfully. 

"Why not just go in and out again, " he said, seductively, "and run toher house all dripping wet?"

"That would be clever, wouldn't it?" said the ungracious Mr. Heard. "Starting to commit suicide, and then thinking better of it. Why, Ishould be a bigger laughing-stock than ever. "

"But suppose I saved you against your will?" breathed the tempter; "howwould that be?"

"It would be all right if I cared to run the risk, " said the other, "butI don't. I should look well struggling in the water while you was divingin the wrong places for me, shouldn't I?"

"I wasn't thinking of such a thing, " said Mr. Dix, hastily; "twentystrokes is about my mark--with my clothes off. My idea was to pull youout. "

Mr. Heard glanced at the black water a dozen feet below. "How?" heinquired, shortly. 

"Not here, " said the mate. "Come to the end of the quay where the groundslopes to the water. It's shallow there, and you can tell her that youjumped in off here. She won't know the difference. "

With an enthusiasm which Mr. Heard made no attempt to share, he led theway to the place indicated, and dilating upon its manifold advantages, urged him to go in at once and get it over. 

"You couldn't have a better night for it, " he said, briskly. "Why, itmakes me feel like a dip myself to look at it. "

Mr. Heard gave a surly grunt, and after testing the temperature of thewater with his hand, slowly and reluctantly immersed one foot. Then, with sudden resolution, he waded in and, ducking his head, stood upgasping. 

"Give yourself a good soaking while you're about it, " said the delightedmate. 

Mr. Heard ducked again, and once more emerging stumbled towards thebank. 

"Pull me out, " he cried, sharply. 

Mr. Dix, smiling indulgently, extended his hands, which Mr. Heard seizedwith the proverbial grasp of a drowning man. 

"All right, take it easy, don't get excited, " said the smiling mate, "four foot of water won't hurt anyone. If--Here! Let go o' me, d'yehear? Let go! If you don't let go I'll punch your head. "

"You couldn't save me against my will without coming in, " said Mr. Heard. "Now we can tell 'er you dived in off the quay and got me just asI was sinking for the last time. You'll be a hero. "

The mate's remarks about heroes were mercifully cut short. He was threestone lighter than Mr. Heard, and standing on shelving ground. Thelatter's victory was so sudden that he over-balanced, and only acommotion at the surface of the water showed where they had disappeared. Mr. Heard was first up and out, but almost immediately the figure of themate, who had gone under with his mouth open, emerged from the water andcrawled ashore. 

"You--wait--till I--get my breath back, " he gasped. 

"There's no ill-feeling, I 'ope?" said Mr. Heard, anxiously. "I'll telleverybody of your bravery. Don't spoil everything for the sake of alittle temper. "

Mr. Dix stood up and clinched his fists, but at the spectacle of thedripping, forlorn figure before him his wrath vanished and he broke intoa hearty laugh. 

"Come on, mate, " he said, clapping him on the back, "now let's go andfind Emma. If she don't fall in love with you now she never will. Myeye! you are a picture!"

He began to walk towards the town, and Mr. Heard, with his legs wideapart and his arms held stiffly from his body, waddled along beside him. Two little streamlets followed. 

They walked along the quay in silence, and had nearly reached the end ofit, when the figure of a man turned the corner of the houses andadvanced at a shambling trot towards them. 

"Old Smith!" said Mr. Heard, in a hasty whisper. "Now, be careful. Holdme tight. "

The new-comer thankfully dropped into a walk as he saw them, and came toa standstill with a cry of astonishment as the light of a neighboringlamp revealed their miserable condition. 

"Wot, Arthur!" he exclaimed. 

"Halloa, " said Mr. Heard, drearily. 

"The idea o' your being so sinful, " said Mr. Smith, severely. "Emma toldme wot you said, but I never thought as you'd got the pluck to go and doit. I'm surprised at you. "

"I ain't done it, " said Mr. Heard, in a sullen voice; "nobody can drowndthemselves in comfort with a lot of interfering people about. "

Mr. Smith turned and gazed at the mate, and a broad beam of admirationshone in his face as he grasped that gentleman's hand. 

"Come into the 'ouse both of you and get some dry clothes, " he said, warmly. 

He thrust his strong, thick-set figure between them, and with a hand oneach coat-collar propelled them in the direction of home. The matemuttered something about going back to his ship, but Mr. Smith refusedto listen, and stopping at the door of a neat cottage, turned the handleand thrust his dripping charges over the threshold of a comfortablesitting-room. 

A pleasant-faced woman of middle age and a pretty girl of twenty rose attheir entrance, and a faint scream fell pleasantly upon the ears of Mr. Heard. 

"Here he is, " bawled Mr. Smith; "just saved at the last moment. "

"What, two of them?" exclaimed Miss Smith, with a faint note ofgratification in her voice. Her gaze fell on the mate, and she smiledapprovingly. 

"No; this one jumped in and saved 'im, " said her father. 

"Oh, Arthur!" said Miss Smith. "How could you be so wicked! I neverdreamt you'd go and do such a thing--never! I didn't think you'd got itin you. "

Mr. Heard grinned sheepishly. "I told you I would, " he muttered. 

"Don't stand talking here, " said Mrs. Smith, gazing at the puddle whichwas growing in the centre of the carpet; "they'll catch cold. Take 'emupstairs and give 'em some dry clothes. And I'll bring some hot whiskyand water up to 'em. "

"Rum is best, " said Mr. Smith, herding his charges and driving them upthe small staircase. "Send young Joe for some. Send up three glasses. "They disappeared upstairs, and Joe appearing at that moment from thekitchen, was hastily sent off to the "Blue Jay" for the rum. A couple ofcurious neighbors helped him to carry it back, and, standing modestlyjust inside the door, ventured on a few skilled directions as to itspreparation. After which, with an eye on Miss Smith, they stood andconversed, mostly in head-shakes. 

Stimulated by the rum and the energetic Mr. Smith, the men were not longin changing. Preceded by their host, they came down to the sitting-roomagain; Mr. Heard with as desperate and unrepentant an air as he couldassume, and Mr. Dix trying to conceal his uneasiness by taking greatinterest in a suit of clothes three sizes too large for him. 

"They was both as near drownded as could be, " said Mr. Smith, lookinground; "he ses Arthur fought like a madman to prevent 'imself from beingsaved. "

"It was nothing, really, " said the mate, in an almost inaudible voice, as he met Miss Smith's admiring gaze. 

"Listen to 'im, " said the delighted Mr. Smith; "all brave men are likethat. That's wot's made us Englishmen wot we are. "

"I don't suppose he knew who it was he was saving, " said a voice fromthe door. 

"I didn't want to be saved, " said Mr. Heard, defiantly. 

"Well, you can easy do it again, Arthur, " said the same voice; "the dockwon't run away. "

Mr. Heard started and eyed the speaker with same malevolence. 

"Tell us all about it, " said Miss Smith, gazing at the mate, with herhands clasped. "Did you see him jump in?"

Mr. Dix shook his head and looked at Mr. Heard for guidance. "N--notexactly, " he stammered; "I was just taking a stroll round the harborbefore turning in, when all of a sudden I heard a cry for help--"

"No you didn't, " broke in Mr. Heard, fiercely. 

"Well, it sounded like it, " said the mate, somewhat taken aback. 

"I don't care what it sounded like, " said the other. "I didn't say it. It was the last thing I should 'ave called out. I didn't want to besaved. "

"P'r'aps he cried 'Emma, '" said the voice from the door. 

"Might ha' been that, " admitted the mate. "Well, when I heard it I ranto the edge and looked down at the water, and at first I couldn't seeanything. Then I saw what I took to be a dog, but, knowing that dogscan't cry 'help!'--"

"Emma, " corrected Mr. Heard. 

"Emma, " said the mate, "I just put my hands up and dived in. When I cameto the surface I struck out for him and tried to seize him from behind, but before I could do so he put his arms round my neck like--like--"

"Like as if it was Emma's, " suggested the voice by the door. 

Miss Smith rose with majestic dignity and confronted the speaker. "Andwho asked you in here, George Harris?" she inquired, coldly. 

"I see the door open, " stammered Mr. Harris--"I see the door open and Ithought--"

"If you look again you'll see the handle, " said Miss Smith. 

Mr. Harris looked, and, opening the door with extreme care, meltedslowly from a gaze too terrible for human endurance. 

"We went down like a stone, " continued the mate, as Miss Smith resumedher seat and smiled at him. "When we came up he tried to get away again. I think we went down again a few more times, but I ain't sure. Then wecrawled out; leastways I did, and pulled him after me. "

"He might have drowned you, " said Miss Smith, with a severe glance ather unfortunate admirer. "And it's my belief that he tumbled in afterall, and when you thought he was struggling to get away he wasstruggling to be saved. That's more like him. "

"Well, they're all right now, " said Mr. Smith, as Mr. Heard broke inwith some vehemence. "And this chap's going to 'ave the Royal Society'smedal for it, or I'll know the reason why. "

"No, no, " said the mate, hurriedly; "I wouldn't take it, I couldn'tthink of it. "

"Take it or leave it, " said Mr. Smith; "but I'm going to the police totry and get it for you. I know the inspector a bit. "

"I can't take it, " said the horrified mate; "it--it--besides, don't yousee, if this isn't kept quiet Mr. Heard will be locked up for trying tocommit suicide. "

"So he would be, " said the other man from his post by the door; "he'squite right. "

"And I'd sooner lose fifty medals, " said Mr. Dix. "What's the good of mesaving him for that?"

A murmur of admiration at the mate's extraordinary nobility of characterjarred harshly on the ears of Mr. Heard. Most persistent of all was thevoice of Miss Smith, and hardly able to endure things quietly, he satand watched the tender glances which passed between her and Mr. Dix. Miss Smith, conscious at last of his regards, turned and looked at him. 

"You could say you tumbled in, Arthur, and then he would get the medal, "she said, softly. 

"_Say!_" shouted the overwrought Mr. Heard. "Say I tum--"

Words failed him. He stood swaying and regarding the company for amoment, and then, flinging open the door, closed it behind him with abang that made the house tremble. 

The mate followed half an hour later, escorted to the ship by the entireSmith family. Fortified by the presence of Miss Smith, he pointed outthe exact scene of the rescue without a tremor, and, when her fathernarrated the affair to the skipper, whom they found sitting on decksmoking a last pipe, listened undismayed to that astonished mariner'scomments. 

News of the mate's heroic conduct became general the next day, and workon the ketch was somewhat impeded in consequence. It became a point ofhonor with Mr. Heard's fellow-townsmen to allude to the affair as anaccident, but the romantic nature of the transaction was wellunderstood, and full credit given to Mr. Dix for his self-denial in thematter of the medal. Small boys followed him in the street, and halfPebblesea knew when he paid a visit to the Smith's, and discussed hischances. Two nights afterwards, when he and Miss Smith went for a walkin the loneliest spot they could find, conversation turned almostentirely upon the over-crowded condition of the British Isles. 

The _Starfish_ was away for three weeks, but the little town nolonger looked dull to the mate as she entered the harbor one evening andglided slowly towards her old berth. Emma Smith was waiting to see theship come in, and his taste for all other amusements had temporarilydisappeared. 

For two or three days the course of true love ran perfectly smooth;then, like a dark shadow, the figure of Arthur Heard was thrown acrossits path. It haunted the quay, hung about the house, and cropped upunexpectedly in the most distant solitudes. It came up behind the mateone evening just as he left the ship and walked beside him in silence. 

"Halloa, " said the mate, at last. 

"Halloa, " said Mr. Heard. "Going to see Emma?"

"I'm going to see Miss Smith, " said the mate. 

Mr. Heard laughed; a forced, mirthless laugh. 

"And we don't want you following us about, " said Mr. Dix, sharply. "Ifit'll ease your mind, and do you any good to know, you never had achance. She told me so. "

"I sha'n't follow you, " said Mr. Heard; "it's your last evening, soyou'd better make the most of it. "

He turned on his heel, and the mate, pondering on his last words, wentthoughtfully on to the house. 

[Illustration: "'And we don't want you following us about, ' said Mr. Dix, sharply. "]

Amid the distraction of pleasant society and a long walk, the matterpassed from his mind, and he only remembered it at nine o'clock thatevening as a knock sounded on the door and the sallow face of Mr. Heardwas thrust into the room. 

"Good-evening all, " said the intruder. 

"Evening, Arthur, " said Mr. Smith, affably. 

Mr. Heard with a melancholy countenance entered the room and closed thedoor gently behind him. Then he coughed slightly and shook his head. 

"Anything the matter, Arthur?" inquired Mr. Smith, somewhat disturbed bythese manifestations. 

"I've got something on my mind, " said Mr. Heard, with a diabolicalglance at the mate--"something wot's been worrying me for a long time. I've been deceiving you. "

"That was always your failing, Arthur--deceitfulness, " said Mrs. Smith. "I remember--"

"We've both been deceiving you, " interrupted Mr. Heard, loudly. "Ididn't jump into the harbor the other night, and I didn't tumble in, andMr. Fred Dix didn't jump in after me; we just went to the end of theharbor and walked in and wetted ourselves. "

There was a moment's intense silence and all eyes turned on the mate. The latter met them boldly. 

"It's a habit o' mine to walk into the water and spoil my clothes forthe sake of people I've never met before, " he said, with a laugh. 

"For shame, Arthur!" said Mr. Smith, with a huge sigh of relief. 

"'Ow can you?" said Mrs. Smith. 

"Arthur's been asleep since then, " said the mate, still smiling. "Allthe same, the next time he jumps in he can get out by himself. "

Mr. Heard, raising his voice, entered into a minute description of theaffair, but in vain. Mr. Smith, rising to his feet, denounced hisingratitude in language which was seldom allowed to pass unchallenged inthe presence of his wife, while that lady contributed examples ofdeceitfulness in the past of Mr. Heard, which he strove in vain torefute. Meanwhile, her daughter patted the mate's hand. 

"It's a bit too thin, Arthur, " said the latter, with a mocking smile;"try something better next time. "

"Very well, " said Mr. Heard, in quieter tones; "I dare you to come alongto the harbor and jump in, just as you are, where you said you jumped inafter me. They'll soon see who's telling the truth. "

"He'll do that, " said Mr. Smith, with conviction. 

For a fraction of a second Mr. Dix hesitated, then, with a steady glanceat Miss Smith, he sprang to his feet and accepted the challenge. Mrs. Smith besought him not to be foolish, and, with a vague idea ofdissuading him, told him a slanderous anecdote concerning Mr. Heard'saunt. Her daughter gazed at the mate with proud confidence, and, takinghis arm, bade her mother to get some dry clothes ready and led the wayto the harbor. 

The night was fine but dark, and a chill breeze blew up from the sea. Twice the hapless mate thought of backing out, but a glance at MissSmith's profile and the tender pressure of her arm deterred him. Thetide was running out and he had a faint hope that he might keep afloatlong enough to be washed ashore alive. He talked rapidly, and his laughrang across the water. Arrived at the spot they stopped, and Miss Smithlooking down into the darkness was unable to repress a shiver. 

"Be careful, Fred, " she said, laying her hand upon his arm. 

The mate looked at her oddly. "All right, " he said, gayly, "I'll be outalmost before I'm in. You run back to the house and help your mother getthe dry clothes ready for me. "

His tones were so confident, and his laugh so buoyant, that Mr. Heard, who had been fully expecting him to withdraw from the affair, began tofeel that he had under-rated his swimming powers. "Just jumping in andswimming out again is not quite the same as saving a drownding man, " hesaid, with a sneer. 

In a flash the mate saw a chance of escape. 

"Why, there's no satisfying you, " he said, slowly. "If I do go in I cansee that you won't own up that you've been lying. "

"He'll 'ave to, " said Mr. Smith, who, having made up his mind for alittle excitement, was in no mind to lose it. 

"I don't believe he would, " said the mate. "Look here!" he said, suddenly, as he laid an affectionate arm on the old man's shoulder. "Iknow what we'll do. "

"Well?" said Mr. Smith. 

"I'll save _you_, " said the mate, with a smile of great relief. 

"Save _me_?" said the puzzled Mr. Smith, as his daughter uttered afaint cry. "How?"

"Just as I saved him, " said the other, nodding. "You jump in, and afteryou've sunk twice--same as he did--I'll dive in and save you. At anyrate I'll do my best; I promise you I won't come ashore without you. "

Mr. Smith hastily flung off the encircling arm and retired a few pacesinland. "'Ave you--ever been--in a lunatic asylum at any time?" heinquired, as soon as he could speak. 

"No, " said the mate, gravely. 

"Neither 'ave I, " said Mr. Smith; "and, what's more, I'm not going. "

He took a deep breath and stood simmering. Miss Smith came forward and, with a smothered giggle, took the mate's arm and squeezed it. 

"It'll have to be Arthur again, then, " said the latter, in a resignedvoice. 

"_Me_?" cried Mr. Heard, with a start. 

"Yes, you!" said the mate, in a decided voice. "After what you said justnow I'm not going in without saving somebody. It would be no good. Comeon, in you go. "

"He couldn't speak fairer than that, Arthur, " said Mr. Smith, dispassionately, as he came forward again. 

"But I tell you he can't swim, " protested Mr. Heard, "not properly. Hedidn't swim last time; I told you so. "

"Never mind; we know what you said, " retorted the mate. "All you've gotto do is to jump in and I'll follow and save you--same as I did theother night. "

"Go on, Arthur, " said Mr. Smith, encouragingly. "It ain't cold. "

"I tell you he can't swim, " repeated Mr. Heard, passionately. "I shouldbe drownded before your eyes. "

[Illustration: "'I tell you he can't swim, ' repeated Mr. Heard, passionately. "]

"Rubbish, " said Mr. Smith. "Why, I believe you're afraid. "

"I should be drownded, I tell you, " said Mr. Heard. "He wouldn't come inafter me. "

"Yes, he would, " said Mr. Smith, passing a muscular arm round the mate'swaist; "'cos the moment you're overboard I'll drop 'im in. Are youready?"

He stood embracing the mate and waiting, but Mr. Heard, with aninfuriated exclamation, walked away. A parting glance showed him thatthe old man had released the mate, and that the latter was now embracingMiss Smith. 

[Illustration: IN THE FAMILY]

IN THE FAMILY

The oldest inhabitant of Claybury sat beneath the sign of the"Cauliflower" and gazed with affectionate, but dim, old eyes in thedirection of the village street. 

"No; Claybury men ain't never been much of ones for emigrating, " hesaid, turning to the youthful traveller who was resting in the shadewith a mug of ale and a cigarette. "They know they'd 'ave to go a longway afore they'd find a place as 'ud come up to this. "

He finished the tablespoonful of beer in his mug and sat for so longwith his head back and the inverted vessel on his face that thetraveller, who at first thought it was the beginning of a conjuringtrick, colored furiously, and asked permission to refill it. 

Now and then a Claybury man has gone to foreign parts, said the old man, drinking from the replenished mug, and placing it where the travellercould mark progress without undue strain; but they've, generallyspeaking, come back and wished as they'd never gone. 

The on'y man as I ever heard of that made his fortune by emigrating wasHenery Walker's great-uncle, Josiah Walker by name, and he wasn't aClaybury man at all. He made his fortune out o' sheep in Australey, andhe was so rich and well-to-do that he could never find time to answerthe letters that Henery Walker used to send him when he was hard up. 

Henery Walker used to hear of 'im through a relation of his up inLondon, and tell us all about 'im and his money up at this here"Cauliflower" public-house. And he used to sit and drink his beer andwonder who would 'ave the old man's money arter he was dead. 

When the relation in London died Henery Walker left off hearing abouthis uncle, and he got so worried over thinking that the old man mightdie and leave his money to strangers that he got quite thin. He talkedof emigrating to Australey 'imself, and then, acting on the advice ofBill Chambers--who said it was a cheaper thing to do--he wrote to hisuncle instead, and, arter reminding 'im that 'e was an old man living ina strange country, 'e asked 'im to come to Claybury and make his 'omewith 'is loving grand-nephew. 

It was a good letter, because more than one gave 'im a hand with it, andthere was little bits o' Scripture in it to make it more solemn-like. Itwas wrote on pink paper with pie-crust edges and put in a greenenvelope, and Bill Chambers said a man must 'ave a 'art of stone if thatdidn't touch it. 

Four months arterwards Henery Walker got an answer to 'is letter from'is great-uncle. It was a nice letter, and, arter thanking Henery Walkerfor all his kindness, 'is uncle said that he was getting an old man, andp'r'aps he should come and lay 'is bones in England arter all, and if hedid 'e should certainly come and see his grand-nephew, Henery Walker. 

Most of us thought Henery Walker's fortune was as good as made, but BobPretty, a nasty, low poaching chap that has done wot he could to giveClaybury a bad name, turned up his nose at it. 

"I'll believe he's coming 'ome when I see him, " he ses. "It's my beliefhe went to Australey to get out o' your way, Henery. "

"As it 'appened he went there afore I was born, " ses Henery Walker, firing up. 

"He knew your father, " ses Bob Pretty, "and he didn't want to take norisks. "

They 'ad words then, and arter that every time Bob Pretty met 'im heasked arter his great-uncle's 'ealth, and used to pretend to think 'ewas living with 'im. 

"You ought to get the old gentleman out a bit more, Henery, " he wouldsay; "it can't be good for 'im to be shut up in the 'ouse so much--especially your 'ouse. "

Henery Walker used to get that riled he didn't know wot to do with'imself, and as time went on, and he began to be afraid that 'is unclenever would come back to England, he used to get quite nasty if anybodyon'y so much as used the word "uncle" in 'is company. 

It was over six months since he 'ad had the letter from 'is uncle, and'e was up here at the "Cauliflower" with some more of us one night, whenDicky Weed, the tailor, turns to Bob Pretty and he ses, "Who's the oldgentleman that's staying with you, Bob?"

Bob Pretty puts down 'is beer very careful and turns round on 'im. 

"Old gentleman?" he ses, very slow. "Wot are you talking about?"

"I mean the little old gentleman with white whiskers and a squeakyvoice, " ses Dicky Weed. 

"You've been dreaming, " ses Bob, taking up 'is beer ag'in. 

"I see 'im too, Bob, " ses Bill Chambers. 

"Ho, you did, did you?" ses Bob Pretty, putting down 'is mug with abang. "And wot d'ye mean by coming spying round my place, eh? Wot d'yemean by it?"

"Spying?" ses Bill Chambers, gaping at 'im with 'is mouth open; "Iwasn't spying. Anyone 'ud think you 'ad done something you was ashamedof. "

"You mind your business and I'll mind mine, " ses Bob, very fierce. 

"I was passing the 'ouse, " ses Bill Chambers, looking round at us, "andI see an old man's face at the bedroom winder, and while I was wonderingwho 'e was a hand come and drawed 'im away. I see 'im as plain as ever Isee anything in my life, and the hand, too. Big and dirty it was. "

"And he's got a cough, " ses Dicky Weed--"a churchyard cough--I 'eardit. "

"It ain't much you don't hear, Dicky, " ses Bob Pretty, turning on 'im;"the on'y thing you never did 'ear, and never will 'ear, is any good ofyourself. "

He kicked over a chair wot was in 'is way and went off in such a temperas we'd never seen 'im in afore, and, wot was more surprising still, butI know it's true, 'cos I drunk it up myself, he'd left over arf a pinto' beer in 'is mug. 

"He's up to something, " ses Sam Jones, starting arter him; "mark mywords. "

We couldn't make head nor tail out of it, but for some days arterwardyou'd ha' thought that Bob Pretty's 'ouse was a peep-show. Everybodystared at the winders as they went by, and the children played in frontof the 'ouse and stared in all day long. Then the old gentleman was seenone day as bold as brass sitting at the winder, and we heard that it wasa pore old tramp Bob Pretty 'ad met on the road and given a home to, andhe didn't like 'is good-'artedness to be known for fear he should bemade fun of. 

Nobody believed that, o' course, and things got more puzzling than ever. Once or twice the old gentleman went out for a walk, but Bob Pretty or'is missis was always with 'im, and if anybody tried to speak to himthey always said 'e was deaf and took 'im off as fast as they could. Then one night up at the "Cauliflower" here Dicky Weed came rushing inwith a bit o' news that took everybody's breath away. 

"I've just come from the post-office, " he ses, "and there's a letter forBob Pretty's old gentleman! Wot d'ye think o' that?"

"If you could tell us wot's inside it you might 'ave something to bragabout, " ses Henery Walker. 

"I don't want to see the inside, " ses Dicky Weed; "the name on theoutside was good enough for me. I couldn't hardly believe my own eyes, but there it was: 'Mr. Josiah Walker, ' as plain as the nose on yourface. "

O' course, we see it all then, and wondered why we hadn't thought of itafore; and we stood quiet listening to the things that Henery Walkersaid about a man that would go and steal another man's great-uncle from'im. Three times Smith, the landlord, said, "_Hush!_" and thefourth time he put Henery Walker outside and told 'im to stay there tillhe 'ad lost his voice. 

Henery Walker stayed outside five minutes, and then 'e come back inag'in to ask for advice. His idea seemed to be that, as the oldgentleman was deaf, Bob Pretty was passing 'isself off as Henery Walker, and the disgrace was a'most more than 'e could bear. He began to getexcited ag'in, and Smith 'ad just said "_Hush!_" once more when we'eard somebody whistling outside, and in come Bob Pretty. 

He 'ad hardly got 'is face in at the door afore Henery Walker started on'im, and Bob Pretty stood there, struck all of a heap, and staring at'im as though he couldn't believe his ears. 

"'Ave you gone mad, Henery?" he ses, at last. 

"Give me back my great-uncle, " ses Henery Walker, at the top of 'isvoice. 

Bob Pretty shook his 'ead at him. "I haven't got your great-uncle, Henery, " he ses, very gentle. "I know the name is the same, but wot ofit? There's more than one Josiah Walker in the world. This one is norelation to you at all; he's a very respectable old gentleman. "

"I'll go and ask 'im, " ses Henery Walker, getting up, "and I'll tell 'imwot sort o' man you are, Bob Pretty. "

"He's gone to bed now, Henery, " ses Bob Pretty. 

"I'll come in the fust thing to-morrow morning, then, " ses HeneryWalker. 

"Not in my 'ouse, Henery, " ses Bob Pretty; "not arter the things you'vebeen sayin' about me. I'm a pore man, but I've got my pride. Besides, Itell you he ain't your uncle. He's a pore old man I'm giving a 'ome to, and I won't 'ave 'im worried. "

"'Ow much does 'e pay you a week, Bob?" ses Bill Chambers. 

Bob Pretty pretended not to hear 'im. 

"Where did your wife get the money to buy that bonnet she 'ad on onSunday?" ses Bill Chambers. "My wife ses it's the fust new bonnet shehas 'ad since she was married. "

"And where did the new winder curtains come from?" ses Peter Gubbins. 

Bob Pretty drank up 'is beer and stood looking at them very thoughtful;then he opened the door and went out without saying a word. 

"He's got your great-uncle a prisoner in his 'ouse, Henery, " ses BillChambers; "it's easy for to see that the pore old gentleman is gettingpast things, and I shouldn't wonder if Bob Pretty don't make 'im leaveall 'is money to 'im. "

Henery Walker started raving ag'in, and for the next few days he triedhis 'ardest to get a few words with 'is great-uncle, but Bob Pretty wastoo much for 'im. Everybody in Claybury said wot a shame it was, but itwas all no good, and Henery Walker used to leave 'is work and standoutside Bob Pretty's for hours at a time in the 'opes of getting a wordwith the old man. 

He got 'is chance at last, in quite a unexpected way. We was up 'ere atthe "Cauliflower" one evening, and, as it 'appened, we was talking aboutHenery Walker's great-uncle, when the door opened, and who should walkin but the old gentleman 'imself. Everybody left off talking and staredat 'im, but he walked up to the bar and ordered a glass o' gin and beeras comfortable as you please. 

Bill Chambers was the fust to get 'is presence of mind back, and he setoff arter Henery Walker as fast as 'is legs could carry 'im, and in awunnerful short time, considering, he came back with Henery, both of 'empuffing and blowing their 'ardest. 

"There--he--is!" ses Bill Chambers, pointing to the old gentleman. 

Henery Walker gave one look, and then 'e slipped over to the old man andstood all of a tremble, smiling at 'im. "Good-evening, " he ses. 

"Wot?" ses the old gentleman. 

"Good-evening!" ses Henery Walker ag'in. 

"I'm a bit deaf, " ses the old gentleman, putting his 'and to his ear. 

"GOOD-EVENING!" ses Henery Walker ag'in, shouting. "I'm your grand-nephew, Henery Walker!"

"Ho, are you?" ses the old gentleman, not at all surprised. "Bob Prettywas telling me all about you. "

"I 'ope you didn't listen to 'im, " ses Henery Walker, all of a tremble. "Bob Pretty'd say anything except his prayers. "

"He ses you're arter my money, " ses the old gentleman, looking at 'im. 

"He's a liar, then, " ses Henery Walker; "he's arter it 'imself. And itain't a respectable place for you to stay at. Anybody'll tell you wot arascal Bob Pretty is. Why, he's a byword. "

"Everybody is arter my money, " ses the old gentleman, looking round. "Everybody. "

"I 'ope you'll know me better afore you've done with me, uncle, " sesHenery Walker, taking a seat alongside of Mm. "Will you 'ave another mugo' beer?"

"Gin and beer, " ses the old gentleman, cocking his eye up very fierce atSmith, the landlord; "and mind the gin don't get out ag'in, same as itdid in the last. "

Smith asked 'im wot he meant, but 'is deafness come on ag'in. HeneryWalker 'ad an extra dose o' gin put in, and arter he 'ad tasted it theold gentleman seemed to get more amiable-like, and 'im and Henery Walkersat by theirselves talking quite comfortable. 

"Why not come and stay with me?" ses Henery Walker, at last. "You can doas you please and have the best of everything. "

"Bob Pretty ses you're arter my money, " ses the old gentleman, shakinghis 'ead. "I couldn't trust you. "

"He ses that to put you ag'in me, " ses Henery Walker, pleading-like. 

"Well, wot do you want me to come and live with you for, then?" ses oldMr. Walker. 

"Because you're my great-uncle, " ses Henery Walker, "and my 'ouse is theproper place for you. Blood is thicker than water. "

"And you don't want my money?" ses the old man, looking at 'im verysharp. 

"Certainly not, " ses Henery Walker. 

"And 'ow much 'ave I got to pay a week?" ses old Mr. Walker. "That's thequestion?"

"Pay?" ses Henery Walker, speaking afore he 'ad time to think. "Pay?Why, I don't want you to pay anything. "

The old gentleman said as 'ow he'd think it over, and Henery started totalk to 'im about his father and an old aunt named Maria, but 'e stopped'im sharp, and said he was sick and tired of the whole Walker family, and didn't want to 'ear their names ag'in as long as he lived. HeneryWalker began to talk about Australey then, and asked 'im 'ow many sheephe'd got, and the words was 'ardly out of 'is mouth afore the oldgentleman stood up and said he was arter his money ag'in. 

Henery Walker at once gave 'im some more gin and beer, and arter he 'addrunk it the old gentleman said that he'd go and live with 'im for alittle while to see 'ow he liked it. 

[Illustration: "'You leave go o' my lodger, ' ses Bob Pretty. "]

"But I sha'n't pay anything, " he ses, very sharp; "mind that. "

"I wouldn't take it if you offered it to me, " ses Henery Walker. "You'llcome straight 'ome with me to-night, won't you?"

Afore old Mr. Walker could answer the door opened and in came BobPretty. He gave one look at Henery Walker and then he walked straightover to the old gentleman and put his 'and on his shoulder. 

"Why, I've been looking for you everywhere, Mr. Walker, " he ses. "Icouldn't think wot had 'appened to you. "

"You needn't worry yourself, Bob, " ses Henery Walker; "he's coming tolive with me now. "

"Don't you believe it, " ses Bob Pretty, taking hold of old Mr. Walker bythe arm; "he's my lodger, and he's coming with me. "

He began to lead the old gentleman towards the door, but Henery Walker, wot was still sitting down, threw 'is arms round his legs and held 'imtight. Bob Pretty pulled one way and Henery Walker pulled the other, andboth of 'em shouted to each other to leave go. The row they made wasawful, but old Mr. Walker made more noise than the two of 'em puttogether. 

"You leave go o' my lodger, " ses Bob Pretty. 

"You leave go o' my great-uncle--my dear great-uncle, " ses HeneryWalker, as the old gentleman called 'im a bad name and asked 'im whetherhe thought he was made of iron. 

I believe they'd ha' been at it till closing-time, on'y Smith, thelandlord, came running in from the back and told them to go outside. He'ad to shout to make 'imself heard, and all four of 'em seemed to betrying which could make the most noise. 

"He's my lodger, " ses Bob Pretty, "and he can't go without giving meproper notice; that's the lor--a week's notice. "

They all shouted ag'in then, and at last the old gentleman told HeneryWalker to give Bob Pretty ten shillings for the week's notice and ha'done with 'im. Henery Walker 'ad only got four shillings with 'im, but'e borrowed the rest from Smith, and arter he 'ad told Bob Pretty wot hethought of 'im he took old Mr. Walker by the arm and led him 'ome a'mostdancing for joy. 

Mrs. Walker was nearly as pleased as wot 'e was, and the fuss they madeof the old gentleman was sinful a'most. He 'ad to speak about it 'imselfat last, and he told 'em plain that when 'e wanted arf-a-dozen sore-eyedchildren to be brought down in their night-gowns to kiss 'im while hewas eating sausages, he'd say so. 

Arter that Mrs. Walker was afraid that 'e might object when her and her'usband gave up their bedroom to 'im; but he didn't. He took it all as'is right, and when Henery Walker, who was sleeping in the next roomwith three of 'is boys, fell out o' bed for the second time, he got upand rapped on the wall. 

Bob Pretty came round the next morning with a tin box that belonged tothe old man, and 'e was so perlite and nice to 'im that Henery Walkercould see that he 'ad 'opes of getting 'im back ag'in. The box wascarried upstairs and put under old Mr. Walker's bed, and 'e was sopartikler about its being locked, and about nobody being about when 'eopened it, that Mrs. Walker went arf out of her mind with curiosity. 

"I s'pose you've looked to see that Bob Pretty didn't take anything outof it?" ses Henery Walker. 

"He didn't 'ave the chance, " ses the old gentleman. "It's always kep'locked. "

"It's a box that looks as though it might 'ave been made in Australey, "ses Henery Walker, who was longing to talk about them parts. 

"If you say another word about Australey to me, " ses old Mr. Walker, firing up, "off I go. Mind that! You're arter my money, and if you'renot careful you sha'n't 'ave a farthing of it. "

That was the last time the word "Australey" passed Henery Walker's lips, and even when 'e saw his great-uncle writing letters there he didn't sayanything. And the old man was so suspicious of Mrs. Walker's curiositythat all the letters that was wrote to 'im he 'ad sent to Bob Pretty's. He used to call there pretty near every morning to see whether any 'adcome for 'im. 

In three months Henery Walker 'adn't seen the color of 'is money once, and, wot was worse still, he took to giving Henery's things away. Mrs. Walker 'ad been complaining for some time of 'ow bad the hens had beenlaying, and one morning at breakfast-time she told her 'usband that, besides missing eggs, two of 'er best hens 'ad been stolen in the night. 

"They wasn't stolen, " ses old Mr. Walker, putting down 'is teacup. "Itook 'em round this morning and give 'em to Bob Pretty. "

"Give 'em to Bob Pretty?" ses Henery Walker, arf choking. "Wot for?"

"'Cos he asked me for 'em, " ses the old gentleman. "Wot are you lookingat me like that for?"

Henery couldn't answer 'im, and the old gentleman, looking very fierce, got up from the table and told Mrs. Walker to give 'im his hat. HeneryWalker clung to 'im with tears in his eyes a'most and begged 'im not togo, and arter a lot of talk old Mr. Walker said he'd look over it thistime, but it mustn't occur ag'in. 

Arter that 'e did as 'e liked with Henery Walker's things, and Henerydursen't say a word to 'im. Bob Pretty used to come up and flatter 'imand beg 'im to go back and lodge with 'im, and Henery was so afraid he'dgo that he didn't say a word when old Mr. Walker used to give Bob Prettythings to make up for 'is disappointment. He 'eard on the quiet fromBill Chambers, who said that the old man 'ad told it to Bob Pretty as adead secret, that 'e 'ad left 'im all his money, and he was ready to putup with anything. 

The old man must ha' been living with Henery Walker for over eighteenmonths when one night he passed away in 'is sleep. Henery knew that his'art was wrong, because he 'ad just paid Dr. Green 'is bill for sayingthat 'e couldn't do anything for 'im, but it was a surprise to 'im allthe same. He blew his nose 'ard and Mrs. Walker kept rubbing 'er eyeswith her apron while they talked in whispers and wondered 'ow much moneythey 'ad come in for. 

In less than ten minutes the news was all over Claybury, and arf thepeople in the place hanging round in front of the 'ouse waiting to hear'ow much the Walkers 'ad come in for. Henery Walker pulled the blind onone side for a moment and shook his 'ead at them to go away. Some ofthem did go back a yard or two, and then they stood staring at BobPretty, wot come up as bold as brass and knocked at the door. 

"Wot's this I 'ear?" he ses, when Henery Walker opened it. "You don'tmean to tell me that the pore old gentleman has really gone? I told 'imwot would happen if 'e came to lodge with you. "

"You be off, " ses Henery Walker; "he hasn't left you anything. "

"I know that, " ses Bob Pretty, shaking his 'ead. "You're welcome to it, Henery. If there is anything. I never bore any malice to you for takingof 'im away from us. I could see you'd took a fancy to 'im from thefust. The way you pretended 'e was your great-uncle showed me that. "

"Wot are you talking about?" ses Henery Walker. "He was my great-uncle!"

"Have it your own way, Henery, " ses Bob Pretty; "on'y, if you asked me, I should say that he was my wife's grandfather. "

"_Your--wife's--grandfather_?" ses Henery Walker, in a chokingvoice. 

He stood staring at 'im, stupid-like, for a minute or two, but hecouldn't get out another word. In a flash 'e saw 'ow he'd been done, andhow Bob Pretty 'ad been deceiving 'im all along, and the idea that he'ad arf ruined himself keeping Mrs. Pretty's grandfather for 'em prettynear sent 'im out of his mind. 

[Illustration: "He slammed the door in Bob Pretty's face. "]

"But how is it 'is name was Josiah Walker, same as Henery's great-uncle?" ses Bill Chambers, who 'ad been crowding round with the others. "Tell me that!"

"He 'ad a fancy for it, " ses Bob Pretty, "and being a 'armless amusementwe let him 'ave his own way. I told Henery Walker over and over ag'inthat it wasn't his uncle, but he wouldn't believe me. I've got witnessesto it. Wot did you say, Henery?"

Henery Walker drew 'imself up as tall as he could and stared at him. Twice he opened 'is mouth to speak but couldn't, and then he made a oddsort o' choking noise in his throat, and slammed the door in BobPretty's face. 

[Illustration: A LOVE-KNOT]

A Love-Knot

Mr. Nathaniel Clark and Mrs. Bowman had just finished their third gameof draughts. It had been a difficult game for Mr. Clark, the lady's mindhaving been so occupied with other matters that he had had greatdifficulty in losing. Indeed, it was only by pushing an occasional pieceof his own off the board that he had succeeded. 

"A penny for your thoughts, Amelia, " he said, at last. 

Mrs. Bowman smiled faintly. "They were far away, " she confessed. 

Mr. Clark assumed an expression of great solemnity; allusions of thiskind to the late Mr. Bowman were only too frequent. He was fortunatewhen they did not grow into reminiscences of a career too blameless forsuccessful imitation. 

"I suppose, " said the widow, slowly--"I suppose I ought to tell you:I've had a letter. "

Mr. Clark's face relaxed. 

"It took me back to the old scenes, " continued Mrs. Bowman, dreamily. "Ihave never kept anything back from you, Nathaniel. I told you all aboutthe first man I ever thought anything of--Charlie Tucker?"

Mr. Clark cleared his throat. "You did, " he said, a trifle hoarsely. "More than once. "

"I've just had a letter from him, " said Mrs. Bowman, simpering. "Fancy, after all these years! Poor fellow, he has only just heard of myhusband's death, and, by the way he writes--"

She broke off and drummed nervously on the table. 

"He hasn't heard about me, you mean, " said Mr. Clark, after waiting togive her time to finish. 

"How should he?" said the widow. 

"If he heard one thing, he might have heard the other, " retorted Mr. Clark. "Better write and tell him. Tell him that in six weeks' timeyou'll be Mrs. Clark. Then, perhaps, he won't write again. "

Mrs. Bowman sighed. "I thought, after all these years, that he must bedead, " she said, slowly, "or else married. But he says in his letterthat he has kept single for my sake all these years. "

"Well, he'll be able to go on doing it, " said Mr. Clark; "it'll comeeasy to him after so much practice. "

"He--he says in his letter that he is coming to see me, " said the widow, in a low voice, "to--to--this evening. "

"Coming to see you?" repeated Mr. Clark, sharply. "What for?"

"To talk over old times, he says, " was the reply. "I expect he hasaltered a great deal; he was a fine-looking fellow--and so dashing. After I gave him up he didn't care what he did. The last I heard of himhe had gone abroad. "

Mr. Clark muttered something under his breath, and, in a mechanicalfashion, began to build little castles with the draughts. He was justabout to add to an already swaying structure when a thundering rat-tat-tat at the door dispersed the draughts to the four corners of the room. The servant opened the door, and the next moment ushered in Mrs. Bowman's visitor. 

A tall, good-looking man in a frock-coat, with a huge spray ofmignonette in his button-hole, met the critical gaze of Mr. Clark. Hepaused at the door and, striking an attitude, pronounced in tones ofgreat amazement the Christian name of the lady of the house. 

"Mr. Tucker!" said the widow, blushing. 

"The same girl, " said the visitor, looking round wildly, "the same asthe day she left me. Not a bit changed; not a hair different. "

He took her extended hand and, bending over it, kissed it respectfully. 

"It's--it's very strange to see you again, Mr. Tucker, " said Mrs. Bowman, withdrawing her hand in some confusion. 

"Mr. Tucker!" said that gentleman, reproachfully; "it used to beCharlie. "

Mrs. Bowman blushed again, and, with a side glance at the frowning Mr. Clark, called her visitor's attention to him and introduced them. Thegentlemen shook hands stiffly. 

"Any friend of yours is a friend of mine, " said Mr. Tucker, with apatronizing air. "How are you, sir?"

Mr. Clark replied that he was well, and, after some hesitation, saidthat he hoped he was the same. Mr. Tucker took a chair and, leaningback, stroked his huge mustache and devoured the widow with his eyes. "Fancy seeing you again!" said the latter, in some embarrassment. "Howdid you find me out?"

"It's a long story, " replied the visitor, "but I always had the ideathat we should meet again. Your photograph has been with me all over theworld. In the backwoods of Canada, in the bush of Australia, it has beenmy one comfort and guiding star. If ever I was tempted to do wrong, Iused to take your photograph out and look at it. "

"I s'pose you took it out pretty often?" said Mr. Clark, restlessly. "Tolook at, I mean, " he added, hastily, as Mrs. Bowman gave him anindignant glance. 

"Every day, " said the visitor, solemnly. "Once when I injured myself outhunting, and was five days without food or drink, it was the only thingthat kept me alive. "

Mr. Clark's gibe as to the size of the photograph was lost in Mrs. Bowman's exclamations of pity. 

"_I_ once lived on two ounces of gruel and a cup of milk a day forten days, " he said, trying to catch the widow's eye. "After the tendays--"

"When the Indians found me I was delirious, " continued Mr. Tucker, in ahushed voice, "and when I came to my senses I found that they werecalling me 'Amelia. '"

Mr. Clark attempted to relieve the situation by a jocose inquiry as towhether he was wearing a mustache at the time, but Mrs. Bowman frownedhim down. He began to whistle under his breath, and Mrs. Bowman promptlysaid, "_H'sh_!"

"But how did you discover me?" she inquired, turning again to thevisitor. 

"Wandering over the world, " continued Mr. Tucker, "here to-day and thereto-morrow, and unable to settle down anywhere, I returned to Northtownabout two years ago. Three days since, in a tramcar, I heard your namementioned. I pricked up my ears and listened; when I heard that you werefree I could hardly contain myself. I got into conversation with thelady and obtained your address, and after travelling fourteen hours hereI am. "

"How very extraordinary!" said the widow. "I wonder who it could havebeen? Did she mention her name?"

Mr. Tucker shook his head. Inquiries as to the lady's appearance, age, and dress were alike fruitless. "There was a mist before my eyes, " heexplained. "I couldn't realize it. I couldn't believe in my goodfortune. "

"I can't think--" began Mrs. Bowman. 

"What does it matter?" inquired Mr. Tucker, softly. "Here we aretogether again, with life all before us and the misunderstandings oflong ago all forgotten. "

Mr. Clark cleared his throat preparatory to speech, but a peremptoryglance from Mrs. Bowman restrained him. 

"I thought you were dead, " she said, turning to the smiling Mr. Tucker. "I never dreamed of seeing you again. "

"Nobody would, " chimed in Mr. Clark. "When do you go back?"

"Back?" said the visitor. "Where?"

"Australia, " replied Mr. Clark, with a glance of defiance at the widow. "You must ha' been missed a great deal all this time. "

Mr. Tucker regarded him with a haughty stare. Then he bent towards Mrs. Bowman. 

"Do you wish me to go back?" he asked, impressively, "We don't wish either one way or the other, " said Mr. Clark, before thewidow could speak. "It don't matter to us. "

"We?" said Mr. Tucker, knitting his brows and gazing anxiously at Mrs. Bowman. "_We_?"

"We are going to be married in six weeks' time, " said Mr. Clark. 

Mr. Tucker looked from one to the other in silent misery; then, shielding his eyes with his hand, he averted his head. Mrs. Bowman, withher hands folded in her lap, regarded him with anxious solicitude. 

"I thought perhaps you ought to know, " said Mr. Clark. 

Mr. Tucker sat bolt upright and gazed at him fixedly. "I wish you joy, "he said, in a hollow voice. 

"Thankee, " said Mr. Clark; "we expect to be pretty happy. " He smiled atMrs. Bowman, but she made no response. Her looks wandered from one tothe other--from the good-looking, interesting companion of her youth tothe short, prosaic little man who was exulting only too plainly in hisdiscomfiture. 

Mr. Tucker rose with a sigh. "Good-by, " he said, extending his hand. 

"You are not going--yet?" said the widow. 

Mr. Tucker's low-breathed "I must" was just audible. The widow renewedher expostulations. 

"Perhaps he has got a train to catch, " said the thoughtful Mr. Clark. 

"No, sir, " said Mr. Tucker. "As a matter of fact, I had taken a room atthe George Hotel for a week, but I suppose I had better get back homeagain. "

"No; why should you?" said Mrs. Bowman, with a rebellious glance at Mr. Clark. "Stay, and come in and see me sometimes and talk over old times. And Mr. Clark will be glad to see you, I'm sure. Won't you Nath--Mr. Clark?"

"I shall be--delighted, " said Mr. Clark, staring hard at themantelpiece. "De-lighted. "

[Illustration: "On the third morning he took Mrs. Bowman out for awalk. "]

Mr. Tucker thanked them both, and after groping for some time for thehand of Mr. Clark, who was still intent upon the mantelpiece, pressed itwarmly and withdrew. Mrs. Bowman saw him to the door, and a low-voicedcolloquy, in which Mr. Clark caught the word "afternoon, " ensued. By thetime the widow returned to the room he was busy building with thedraughts again. 

Mr. Tucker came the next day at three o'clock, and the day after at two. On the third morning he took Mrs. Bowman out for a walk, airilyexplaining to Mr. Clark, who met them on the way, that they had come outto call for him. The day after, when Mr. Clark met them returning from awalk, he was assured that his silence of the day before was understoodto indicate a distaste for exercise. 

"And, you see, I like a long walk, " said Mrs. Bowman, "and you are notwhat I should call a good walker. "

"You never used to complain, " said Mr. Clark; "in fact, it was generallyyou that used to suggest turning back. "

"She wants to be amused as well, " remarked Mr. Tucker; "then she doesn'tfeel the fatigue. "

Mr. Clark glared at him, and then, shortly declining Mrs. Bowman'sinvitation to accompany them home, on the ground that he requiredexercise, proceeded on his way. He carried himself so stiffly, and hismanner was so fierce, that a well-meaning neighbor who had crossed theroad to join him, and offer a little sympathy if occasion offered, talked of the weather for five minutes and inconsequently faded away ata corner. 

Trimington as a whole watched the affair with amusement, although Mr. Clark's friends adopted an inflection of voice in speaking to him whichreminded him strongly of funerals. Mr. Tucker's week was up, but thelandlord of the George was responsible for the statement that he hadpostponed his departure indefinitely. 

Matters being in this state, Mr. Clark went round to the widow's oneevening with the air of a man who has made up his mind to decisiveaction. He entered the room with a bounce and, hardly deigning to noticethe greeting of Mr. Tucker, planted himself in a chair and surveyed himgrimly. "I thought I should find you here, " he remarked. 

"Well, I always am here, ain't I?" retorted Mr. Tucker, removing hiscigar and regarding him with mild surprise. 

"Mr. Tucker is my friend, " interposed Mrs. Bowman. "I am the only friendhe has got in Trimington. It's natural he should be here. "

Mr. Clark quailed at her glance. 

"People are beginning to talk, " he muttered, feebly. 

"Talk?" said the widow, with an air of mystification belied by hercolor. "What about?"

Mr. Clark quailed again. "About--about our wedding, " he stammered. 

Mr. Tucker and the widow exchanged glances. Then the former took hiscigar from his mouth and, with a hopeless gesture threw it into thegrate. 

"Plenty of time to talk about that, " said Mrs. Bowman, after a pause. 

"Time is going, " remarked Mr. Clark. "I was thinking, if it wasagreeable to you, of putting up the banns to-morrow. "

"There--there's no hurry, " was the reply. 

"'Marry in haste, repent at leisure, '" quoted Mr. Tucker, gravely. 

"Don't you want me to put 'em up?" demanded Mr. Clark, turning to Mrs. Bowman. 

"There's no hurry, " said Mrs. Bowman again. "I--I want time to think. "

Mr. Clark rose and stood over her, and after a vain attempt to meet hisgaze she looked down at the carpet. 

"I understand, " he said, loftily. "I am not blind. "

"It isn't my fault, " murmured the widow, drawing patterns with her toeon the carpet. "One can't help their feelings. "

Mr. Clark gave a short, hard laugh. "What about my feelings?" he said, severely. "What about the life you have spoiled? I couldn't havebelieved it of you. "

"I'm sure I'm very sorry, " murmured Mrs. Bowman, "and anything that Ican do I will. I never expected to see Charles again. And it was sosudden; it took me unawares. I hope we shall still be friends. "

"Friends!" exclaimed Mr. Clark, with extraordinary vigor. "With_him?_"

He folded his arms and regarded the pair with a bitter smile; Mrs. Bowman, quite unable to meet his eyes, still gazed intently at thefloor. 

"You have made me the laughing-stock of Trimington, " pursued Mr. Clark. "You have wounded me in my tenderest feelings; you have destroyed myfaith in women. I shall never be the same man again. I hope that youwill never find out what a terrible mistake you've made. "

Mrs. Bowman made a noise half-way between a sniff and a sob; Mr. Tucker's sniff was unmistakable. 

"I will return your presents to-morrow, " said Mr. Clark, rising. "Good-by, forever!"

He paused at the door, but Mrs. Bowman did not look up. A second laterthe front door closed and she heard him walk rapidly away. 

For some time after his departure she preserved a silence which Mr. Tucker endeavored in vain to break. He took a chair by her side, and atthe third attempt managed to gain possession of her hand. 

"I deserved all he said, " she cried, at last. "Poor fellow, I hope hewill do nothing desperate. "

"No, no, " said Mr. Tucker, soothingly. 

"His eyes were quite wild, " continued the widow. "If anything happens tohim I shall never forgive myself. I have spoilt his life. "

Mr. Tucker pressed her hand and spoke of the well-known refininginfluence a hopeless passion for a good woman had on a man. He cited hisown case as an example. 

"Disappointment spoilt my life so far as worldly success goes, " he said, softly, "but no doubt the discipline was good for me. "

Mrs. Bowman smiled faintly, and began to be a little comforted. Conversation shifted from the future of Mr. Clark to the past of Mr. Tucker; the widow's curiosity as to the extent of the latter's worldlysuccess remaining unanswered by reason of Mr. Tucker's suddenremembrance of a bear-fight. 

Their future was discussed after supper, and the advisability of leavingTrimington considered at some length. The towns and villages of Englandwere at their disposal; Mr. Tucker's business, it appeared, beingindependent of place. He drew a picture of life in a bungalow withmodern improvements at some seaside town, and, the cloth having beenremoved, took out his pocket-book and, extracting an old envelope, drewplans on the back. 

It was a delightful pastime and made Mrs. Bowman feel that she wastwenty and beginning life again. She toyed with the pocket-book andcomplimented Mr. Tucker on his skill as a draughtsman. 

A letter or two fell out and she replaced them. Then a small newspapercutting, which had fluttered out with them, met her eye. 

"A little veranda with roses climbing up it, " murmured Mr. Tucker, stilldrawing, "and a couple of--"

His pencil was arrested by an odd, gasping noise from the window. Helooked up and saw her sitting stiffly in her chair. Her face seemed tohave swollen and to be colored in patches; her eyes were round andamazed. 

"Aren't you well?" he inquired, rising in disorder. 

Mrs. Bowman opened her lips, but no sound came from them. Then she gavea long, shivering sigh. 

"Heat of the room too much for you?" inquired the other, anxiously. 

Mrs. Bowman took another long, shivering breath. Still incapable ofspeech, she took the slip of paper in her trembling fingers and aninvoluntary exclamation of dismay broke from Mr. Tucker. She dabbedfiercely at her burning eyes with her handkerchief and read it again. 

"TUCKER. --_If this should meet the eye of Charles Tucker, who knewAmelia Wyborn twenty-five years ago, he will hear of something greatlyto his advantage by communicating with N. C. , Royal Hotel, Northtown. _"

Mrs. Bowman found speech at last. "N. C. --Nathaniel Clark, " she said, in broken tones. "So that is where he went last month. Oh, what a foolI've been! Oh, what a simple fool!"

Mr. Tucker gave a deprecatory cough. "I--I had forgotten it was there, "he said, nervously. 

"Yes, " breathed the widow, "I can quite believe that. "

"I was going to show you later on, " declared the other, regarding hercarefully. "I was, really. I couldn't bear the idea of keeping a secretfrom you long. "

[Illustration: "'I had forgotten it was there, ' he said, nervously. "]

Mrs. Bowman smiled--a terrible smile. "The audacity of the man, " shebroke out, "to stand there and lecture me on my behavior. To talk abouthis spoilt life, and all the time--"

She got up and walked about the room, angrily brushing aside theproffered attentions of Mr. Tucker. 

"Laughing-stock of Trimington, is he?" she stormed. "He shall be morethan that before I have done with him. The wickedness of the man; theartfulness!"

"That's what I thought, " said Mr. Tucker, shaking his head. "I said tohim--"

"You're as bad, " said the widow, turning on him fiercely. "All the timeyou two men were talking at each other you were laughing in your sleevesat me. And I sat there like a child taking it all in. I've no doubt youmet every night and arranged what you were to do next day. "

Mr. Tucker's lips twitched. "I would do more than that to win you, Amelia, " he said, humbly. 

"You'll have to, " was the grim reply. "Now I want to hear all about thisfrom the beginning. And don't keep anything from me, or it'll be theworse for you. "

She sat down again and motioned him to proceed. 

"When I saw the advertisement in the _Northtown Chronicle_, " beganMr. Tucker, in husky voice, "I danced with--"

"Never mind about that, " interrupted the widow, dryly. 

"I went to the hotel and saw Mr. Clark, " resumed Mr. Tucker, somewhatcrestfallen. "When I heard that you were a widow, all the old times cameback to me again. The years fell from me like a mantle. Once again I sawmyself walking with you over the footpath to Cooper's farm; once again Ifelt your hand in mine. Your voice sounded in my ears--"

"You saw Mr. Clark, " the widow reminded him. 

"He had heard all about our early love from you, " said Mr. Tucker, "andas a last desperate chance for freedom he had come down to try and huntme up, and induce me to take you off his hands. "

Mrs. Bowman uttered a smothered exclamation. 

"He tempted me for two days, " said Mr. Tucker, gravely. "The temptationwas too great and I fell. Besides that, I wanted to rescue you from theclutches of such a man. "

"Why didn't he tell me himself?" inquired the widow. 

"Just what I asked him, " said the other, "but he said that you were muchtoo fond of him to give him up. He is not worthy of you, Amelia; he isfickle. He has got his eye on another lady. "

"WHAT?" said the widow, with sudden loudness. 

Mr. Tucker nodded mournfully. "Miss Hackbutt, " he said, slowly. "I sawher the other day, and what he can see in her I can't think. "

"Miss Hackbutt?" repeated the widow in a smothered voice. "Miss--" Shegot up and began to pace the room again. 

"He must be blind, " said Mr. Tucker, positively. 

Mrs. Bowman stopped suddenly and stood regarding him. There was a lightin her eye which made him feel anything but comfortable. He was gladwhen she transferred her gaze to the clock. She looked at it so longthat he murmured something about going. 

"Good-by, " she said. 

Mr. Tucker began to repeat his excuses, but she interrupted him. "Notnow, " she said, decidedly. "I'm tired. Good-night. "

Mr. Tucker pressed her hand. "Good-night, " he said, tenderly. "I amafraid the excitement has been too much for you. May I come round at theusual time to-morrow?"

"Yes, " said the widow. 

She took the advertisement from the table and, folding it carefully, placed it in her purse. Mr. Tucker withdrew as she looked up. 

He walked back to the "George" deep in thought, and over a couple ofpipes in bed thought over the events of the evening. He fell asleep atlast and dreamed that he and Miss Hackbutt were being united in thebonds of holy matrimony by the Rev. Nathaniel Clark. 

The vague misgivings of the previous night disappeared in the morningsunshine. He shaved carefully and spent some time in the selection of atie. 

Over an excellent breakfast he arranged further explanations and excusesfor the appeasement of Mrs. Bowman. 

He was still engaged on the task when he started to call on her. Half-way to the house he arrived at the conclusion that he was looking toocheerful. His face took on an expression of deep seriousness, only togive way the next moment to one of the blankest amazement. In front ofhim, and approaching with faltering steps, was Mr. Clark, and leaningtrustfully on his arm the comfortable figure of Mrs. Bowman. Her browwas unruffled and her lips smiling. 

"Beautiful morning, " she said, pleasantly, as they met. 

"Lovely!" murmured the wondering Mr. Tucker, trying, but in vain, tocatch the eye of Mr. Clark. 

"I have been paying an early visit, " said the widow, still smiling. "Isurprised you, didn't I, Nathaniel?"

"You did, " said Mr. Clark, in an unearthly voice. 

"We got talking about last night, " continued the widow, "and Nathanielstarted pleading with me to give him another chance. I suppose that I amsofthearted, but he was so miserable--You were never so miserable inyour life before, were you, Nathaniel?"

"Never, " said Mr. Clark, in the same strange voice. 

"He was so wretched that at last I gave way, " said Mrs. Bowman, with asimper. "Poor fellow, it was such a shock to him that he hasn't got backhis cheerfulness yet. "

Mr. Tucker said, "Indeed!"

"He'll be all right soon, " said Mrs. Bowman, in confidential tones. "Weare on the way to put our banns up, and once that is done he will feelsafe. You are not really afraid of losing me again, are you, Nathaniel?"

Mr. Clark shook his head, and, meeting the eye of Mr. Tucker in theprocess, favored him with a glance of such utter venom that the latterwas almost startled. 

"Good-by, Mr. Tucker, " said the widow, holding out her hand. "Nathanieldid think of inviting you to come to my wedding, but perhaps it is bestnot. However, if I alter my mind, I will get him to advertise for youagain. Good-by. "

She placed her arm in Mr. Clark's again, and led him slowly away. Mr. Tucker stood watching them for some time, and then, with a glance in thedirection of the "George, " where he had left a very small portmanteau, he did a hasty sum in comparative values and made his way to therailway-station. 

[Illustration: HER UNCLE]

Her Uncle

Mr. Wragg sat in a high-backed Windsor chair at the door of his house, smoking. Before him the road descended steeply to the harbor, a smallblue patch of which was visible from his door. Children over five wereat school: children under that age, and suspiciously large for theiryears, played about in careless disregard of the remarks which Mr. Wraggoccasionally launched at them. Twice a ball had whizzed past him; and asmall but select party, with a tip-cat of huge dimensions and awesomepoints, played just out of reach. Mr. Wragg, snapping his eyesnervously, threatened in vain. 

"Morning, old crusty-patch, " said a cheerful voice at his elbow. 

Mr. Wragg glanced up at the young fisherman towering above him, and eyedhim disdainfully. 

"Why don't you leave 'em alone?" inquired the young man. "Be cheerfuland smile at 'em. You'd soon be able to smile with a little practice. ""You mind your business, George Gale, and I'll mind mine, " said Mr. Wragg, fiercely; "I've 'ad enough of your impudence, and I'm not goingto have any more. And don't lean up agin my house, 'cos I won't 'aveit. "

Mr. Gale laughed. "Got out o' bed the wrong side again, haven't you?" heinquired. "Why don't you put that side up against the wall?"

Mr. Wragg puffed on in silence and became absorbed in a fishing-boatgliding past at the bottom of the hill. 

"I hear you've got a niece coming to live with you?" pursued the youngman. 

Mr. Wragg smoked on. 

"Poor thing!" said the other, with a sigh. "Does she take after you--inlooks, I mean?"

"If I was twenty years younger nor what I am, " said Mr. Wragg, sententiously, "I'd give you a hiding, George Gale. "

"It's what I want, " agreed Mr. Gale, placidly. "Well, so long, Mr. Wragg. I can't stand talking to you all day. "

He was about to move off, after pretending to pinch the ear of theinfuriated Mr. Wragg, when he noticed a station-fly, with a big trunk onthe box-seat, crawling slowly up the hill towards them. 

"Good riddance, " said Mr. Wragg, suggestively. 

The other paid no heed. The vehicle came nearer, and a girl, who plainlyowed none of her looks to Mr. Wragg's side of the family, came into viewbehind the trunk. She waved her hand, and Mr. Wragg, removing his pipefrom his mouth, waved it in return. Mr. Gale edged away about eighteeninches, and, with an air of assumed carelessness, gazed idly about him. 

He saluted the driver as the fly stopped and gazed hard at theapparition that descended. Then he caught his breath as the girl, approaching her uncle, kissed him affectionately. Mr. Wragg, looking upfiercely at Mr. Gale, was surprised at the expression on thatgentleman's face. 

"Isn't it lovely here?" said the girl, looking about her; "and isn't theair nice?"

She followed Mr. Wragg inside, and the driver, a small man and elderly, began tugging at the huge trunk. Mr. Gale's moment had arrived. 

"Stand away, Joe, " he said, stepping forward. "I'll take that in foryou. "

He hoisted the trunk on his shoulders, and, rather glad of his loweredface, advanced slowly into the house. Uncle and niece had just vanishedat the head of the stairs, and Mr. Gale, after a moment's hesitation, followed. 

"In 'ere, " said Mr. Wragg, throwing open a door. 

"Halloa! What are you doing in my house? Put it down. Put it down atonce; d'ye hear?"

Mr. Gale caught the girl's surprised glance and, somewhat flustered, swung round so suddenly that the corner of the trunk took thegesticulating Mr. Wragg by the side of the head and bumped it againstthe wall. Deaf to his outcries, Mr. Gale entered the room and placed thebox on the floor. 

"Where shall I put it?" he inquired of the girl, respectfully. 

"You go out of my house, " stormed Mr. Wragg, entering with his hand tohis head. "Go on. Out you go. "

The young man surveyed him with solicitude. "I'm very sorry if I hurtyou, Mr. Wragg--" he began. 

"Out you go, " repeated the other. 

"It was a pure accident, " pleaded Mr. Gale. 

"And don't you set foot in my 'ouse agin, " said the vengeful Mr. Wragg. "You made yourself officious bringing that box in a-purpose to give me aclump o' the side of the head with it. "

Mr. Gale denied the charge so eagerly, and withal so politely, that theelder man regarded him in amazement. Then his glance fell on his niece, and he smiled with sudden malice as Mr. Gale slowly and humbly descendedthe stairs. 

[Illustration: "The corner of the trunk took the gesticulating Mr. Wraggby the side of the head. "]

"One o' the worst chaps about here, my dear, " he said, loudly. "Mate o'one o' the fishing-boats, and as impudent as they make 'em. Many's thetime I've clouted his head for 'im. "

The girl regarded his small figure with surprised respect. 

"When he was a boy, I mean, " continued Mr. Wragg. "Now, there's yourroom, and when you've put things to rights, come down and I'll show youover the house. "

He glanced at his niece several times during the day, trying hard totrace a likeness, first to his dead sister and then to himself. Severaltimes he scrutinized himself in the small glass on the mantelpiece, butin vain. Even when he twisted his thin beard in his hand and tried toignore his mustache, the likeness still eluded him. 

His opinion of Miss Miller's looks was more than shared by the young menof Waterside. It was a busy youth who could not spare five minutes tochat with an uncle so fortunate, and in less than a couple of weeks Mr. Wragg was astonished at his popularity, and the deference accorded tohis opinions. 

The most humble of them all was Mr. Gale, and, with a pertinacity whichwas almost proof against insult, he strove to force his company upon theindignant Mr. Wragg. Debarred from that, he took to haunting the road, on one occasion passing the house no fewer than fifty-seven times in oneafternoon. His infatuation was plain to be seen of all men. Wise menclosed their eyes to it; others had theirs closed for them, Mr. Galebeing naturally incensed to think that there was anything in hisbehavior that attracted attention. 

His father was at sea, and, to the dismay of the old woman who kepthouse for him, he began to neglect his food. A melancholy but notunpleasing idea that he was slowly fading occurred to him when he foundthat he could eat only two herrings for breakfast instead of four. Hisparticular friend, Joe Harris, to whom he confided the fact, remonstrated hotly. 

"There's plenty of other girls, " he suggested. 

"Not like her, " said Mr. Gale. 

"You're getting to be a by-word in the place, " complained his friend. 

Mr. Gale flushed. "I'd do more than that for her sake, " he said, softly. 

"It ain't the way, " said Mr. Harris, impatiently. "Girls like a man o'spirit; not a chap who hangs about without speaking, and looks as thoughhe has been caught stealing the cat's milk. Why don't you go round andsee her one afternoon when old Wragg is out?"

Mr. Gale shivered. "I dursen't, " he confessed. 

Mr. Harris pondered. "She was going to be a hospital nurse afore shecame down here, " he said, slowly. "P'r'aps if you was to break your legor something she'd come and nurse you. She's wonderful fond of it, Iunderstand. "

"But then, you see, I haven't broken it, " said the other, impatiently. 

"You've got a bicycle, " said Mr. Harris. "You--wait a minute--" hehalf-closed his eyes and waved aside a remark of his friend's. "Supposeyou 'ad an accident and fell off it, just in front of the house?"

"I never fall off, " said Mr. Gale, simply. 

"Old Wragg is out, and me and Charlie Brown carry you into the house, "continued Mr. Harris, closing his eyes entirely. "When you come to yoursenses, she's bending over you and crying. "

He opened his eyes suddenly and then, closing one, gazed hard at thebewildered Gale. "To-morrow afternoon at two, " he said, briskly, "me andCharlie'll be there waiting. "

"Suppose old Wragg ain't out?" objected Mr. Gale, after ten minutes'explanation. 

"He's at the 'Lobster Pot' five days out of six at that time, " was thereply; "if he ain't there tomorrow, it can't be helped. "

Mr. Gale spent the evening practising falls in a quiet lane, and by thetime night came had attained to such proficiency that on the way home hefell off without intending it. It seemed an easier thing than he hadimagined, and next day at two o'clock punctually he put his lessons intopractice. 

By a slight error in judgment his head came into contact with Mr. Wragg's doorstep, and, half-stunned, he was about to rise, when Mr. Harris rushed up and forced him down again. Mr. Brown, who was also inattendance, helped to restore his faculties by a well-placed kick. 

"He's lost his senses, " said Mr. Harris, looking up at Miss Miller, asshe came to the door. 

"You could ha' heard him fall arf a mile away, " added Mr. Brown. 

Miss Miller stooped and examined the victim carefully. There was a nastycut on the side of his head, and a general limpness of body which wasalarming. She went indoors for some water, and by the time she returnedthe enterprising Mr. Harris had got the patient in the passage. 

"I'm afraid he's going, " he said, in answer to the girl's glance. 

"Run for the doctor, " she said, hastily. "Quick!"

"We don't like to leave 'im, miss, " said Mr. Harris, tenderly. "I s'poseit would be too much to ask you to go?"

Miss Miller, with a parting glance at the prostrate man, departed atonce. 

"What did you do that for?" demanded Mr. Gale, sitting up. "I don't wantthe doctor; he'll spoil everything. Why didn't you go away and leaveus?"

"I sent 'er for the doctor, " said Mr. Harris, slowly. "I sent 'er forthe doctor so as we can get you to bed afore she comes back. "

"_Bed_?" exclaimed Mr. Gale. 

"Up you go, " said Mr. Harris, briefly. "We'll tell _her_ we carriedyou up. Now, don't waste time. "

Pushed by his friends, and stopping to expostulate at every step, Mr. Gale was thrust at last into Mr. Wragg's bedroom. 

"Off with your clothes, " said the leading spirit. "What's the matterwith you, Charlie Brown?"

"Don't mind me; I'll be all right in a minute, " said that gentleman, wiping his eyes. "I'm thinking of old Wragg. "

[Illustration: "'What did you do that for?' demanded Mr. Gale, sittingup. "]

Before Mr. Gale had made up his mind his coat and waistcoat were off, and Mr. Brown was at work on his boots. In five minutes' time he wastucked up in Mr. Wragg's bed; his clothes were in a neat little pile ona chair, and Messrs. Harris and Brown were indulging in a congratulatorydouble-shuffle by the window. 

"Don't come to your senses yet awhile, " said the former; "and when youdo, tell the doctor you can't move your limbs. "

"If they try to pull you out o' bed, " said Mr. Brown, "scream as thoughyou're being killed. _H'sh_! Here they are. "

Voices sounded below; Miss Miller and the doctor had met at the doorwith Mr. Wragg, and a violent outburst on that gentleman's part diedaway as he saw that the intruders had disappeared. He was stillgrumbling when Mr. Harris, putting his head over the balusters, askedhim to make a little less noise. 

Mr. Wragg came upstairs in three bounds, and his mien was so terriblethat Messrs. Harris and Brown huddled together for protection. Then hisgaze fell on the bed and he strove in vain for speech. 

"We done it for the best, " faltered Mr. Harris. 

Mr. Wragg made a gurgling noise in his throat, and, as the doctorentered the room, pointed with a trembling finger at the bed. The othertwo gentlemen edged toward the door. 

"Take him away; take him away at once, " vociferated Mr. Wragg. 

The doctor motioned him to silence, and Joe Harris and Mr. Brown heldtheir breaths nervously as he made an examination. For ten minutes heprodded and puzzled over the insensible form in the bed; then he turnedto the couple at the door. 

"How did it happen?" he inquired. 

Mr. Harris told him. He also added that he thought it was best to puthim to bed at once before he came round. 

"Quite right, " said the doctor, nodding. "It's a very serious case. "

"Well, I can't 'ave him 'ere, " broke in Mr. Wragg. 

"It won't be for long, " said the doctor, shaking his head. 

"I can't 'ave him 'ere at all, and, what's more, I won't. Let him go tohis own bed, " said Mr. Wragg, quivering with excitement. 

"He is not to be moved, " said the doctor, decidedly. "If he comes to hissenses and gets out of bed you must coax him back again. "

"_Coax_?" stuttered Mr. Wragg. "_Coax?_ What's he got to dowith me? This house isn't a 'orsepittle. Put his clothes on and take 'imaway. "

"Do nothing of the kind, " was the stern reply. "In fact, his clothes hadbetter be taken out of the room, in case he comes round and tries todress. "

Mr. Harris skipped across to the clothes and tucked them gleefully underhis arm; Mr. Brown secured the boots. 

"When he will come out of this stupor I can't say, " continued thedoctor. "Keep him perfectly quiet and don't let him see a soul. "

"Look 'ere--" began Mr. Wragg, in a broken voice. 

"As to diet--water, " said the doctor, looking round. 

"Water?" said Miss Miller, who had come quietly into the room. 

"Water, " repeated the doctor; "as much as he likes to take, of course. Let me see: to-day is Tuesday. I'll look in on Friday, or Saturday atlatest; but till then he must have nothing but clear cold water. "

Mr. Harris shot a horrified glance at the bed, which happened just thento creak. "But s'pose he asks for food, sir?" he said, respectfully. 

"He mustn't have it, " said the other, sharply. "If he is veryinsistent, " he added, turning to the sullen Mr. Wragg, "tell him that hehas just had food. He won't know any better, and he will be quitesatisfied. "

He motioned them out of the room, and then, lowering the blinds, followed downstairs on tiptoe. A murmur of voices, followed by theclosing of the front door, sounded from below; and Mr. Gale, gettingcautiously out of bed, saw Messrs. Harris and Brown walk up the streettalking earnestly. He stole back on tiptoe to the door, and strove invain to catch the purport of the low-voiced discussion below. Mr. Wragg's voice was raised, but indistinct. Then he fancied that he hearda laugh. 

He waited until the door closed behind the doctor, and then went back tobed, to try and think out a situation which was fast becomingmysterious. 

He lay in the darkened room until a cheerful clatter of crockery belowheralded the approach of tea-time. He heard Miss Miller call her unclein from the garden, and with some satisfaction heard her pleasant voiceengaged in brisk talk. At intervals Mr. Wragg laughed loud and long. 

Tea was cleared away, and the long evening dragged along in silence. Uncle and niece were apparently sitting in the garden, but they came into supper, and later on the fumes of Mr. Wragg's pipe pervaded thehouse. At ten o'clock he heard footsteps ascending the stairs, andthrough half-closed eyes saw Mr. Wragg enter the bedroom with a candle. 

"Time the pore feller had 'is water, " he said to his niece, who remainedoutside. 

"Unless he is still insensible, " was the reply. 

Mr. Gale, who was feeling both thirsty and hungry, slowly opened hiseyes, and fixed them in a vacant stare on Mr. Wragg. 

"Where am I?" he inquired, in a faint voice. 

"Buckingham Pallis, " replied Mr. Wragg, promptly. 

Mr. Gale ground his teeth. "How did I come here?" he said, at last. 

"The fairies brought you, " said Mr. Wragg. 

The young man rubbed his eyes and blinked at the candle. "I seem toremember falling, " he said, slowly; "has anything happened?"

"One o' the fairies dropped you, " said Mr. Wragg, with great readiness;"fortunately, you fell on your head. "

A sound suspiciously like a giggle came from the landing and fellheavily on Gale's ears. He closed his eyes and tried to think. 

"How did I get into your bedroom, Mr. Wragg?" he inquired, after a longpause. 

"Light-'eaded, " confided Mr. Wragg to the landing, and significantlytapping his forehead. 

"This ain't my bedroom, " he said, turning to the invalid. "It's theKing's. His Majesty gave up 'is bed at once, direckly he 'eard you was'urt. "

"And he's going to sleep on three chairs in the front parlor--if hecan, " said a low voice from the landing. 

The humor faded from Mr. Wragg's face and was succeeded by an expressionof great sourness. "Where is the pore feller's supper?" he inquired. "Idon't suppose he can eat anything, but he might try. "

He went to the door and a low-voiced colloquy ensued. The rival meritsof cold chicken versus steak-pie as an invalid diet were discussed atsome length. Finally the voice of Miss Miller insisted on chicken, and aglass of port-wine. 

"I'll tell 'im it's chicken and port-wine then, " said Mr. Wragg, reappearing with a bedroom jug and a tumbler, which he placed on a smalltable by the bedside. 

"Don't let him eat too much, mind, " said the voice from the landing, anxiously. 

Mr. Wragg said that he would be careful, and addressing Mr. Galeimplored him not to overeat himself. The young man stared at himoffensively, and, pretty certain now of the true state of affairs, thought only of escape. 

"I feel better, " he said, slowly. "I think I will go home. "

"Yes, yes, " said the other, soothingly. 

"If you will fetch my clothes, " continued Mr. Gale, "I will go now. "

"_Clothes_!" said Mr. Wragg, in an astonished voice. "Why, youdidn't 'ave any. "

Mr. Gale sat up suddenly in bed and shook his fist at him. "Look here--"he began, in a choking voice. 

"The fairies brought you as you was, " continued Mr. Wragg, grinningfuriously; "and of all the perfect picturs--"

A series of gasping sobs sounded from the landing, the stairs creaked, and a door slammed violently below. In spite of this precaution thesounds of a maiden in dire distress were distinctly audible. 

"You give me my clothes, " shouted the now furious Mr. Gale, springingout of bed. 

Mr. Wragg drew back. "I'll go and fetch 'em, " he said, hastily. 

He ran lightly downstairs, and the young man, sitting on the edge of thebed, waited. Ten minutes passed, and he heard Mr. Wragg returning, followed by his niece. He slipped back into bed again. 

"It's a pore brain again, " he heard, in the unctuous tones which Mr. Wragg appeared to keep for this emergency. "It's clothes he wants now;by and by I suppose it'll be something else. Well, the doctor said we'dgot to humor him. "

"Poor fellow!" sighed Miss Miller, with a break in her voice. 

"See 'ow his face'll light up when he sees them, " said her uncle. 

He pushed the door open, and after surveying the patient with abenevolent smile triumphantly held up a collar and tie for hisinspection and threw them on the bed. Then he disappeared hastily and, closing the door, turned the key in the lock. 

"If you want any more chicken or anything, " he cried through the door, "ring the bell. "

The horrified prisoner heard them pass downstairs again, and, after aglass of water, sat down by the window and tried to think. He got up andtried the door, but it opened inwards, and after a severe onslaught thehandle came off in his hand. Tired out at last he went to bed again, andslept fitfully until morning. 

Mr. Wragg visited him again after breakfast, but with great foresightonly put his head in at the door, while Miss Miller remained outside incase of need. In these circumstances Mr. Gale met his anxious inquirieswith a sullen silence, and the other, tired at last of baiting him, turned to go. 

"I'll be back soon, " he said, with a grin. "I'm just going out to tellfolks 'ow you're getting on. There's a lot of 'em anxious. "

He was as good as his word, and Mr. Gale, peeping from the window, ragedhelplessly as little knots of neighbors stood smiling up at the house. Unable to endure it any longer he returned to bed, resolving to waituntil night came, and then drop from the window and run home in ablanket. 

The smell of dinner was almost painful, but he made no sign. Mr. Wraggin high good humor smoked a pipe after his meal, and then went outagain. The house was silent except for the occasional movements of thegirl below. Then there was a sudden tap at his door. 

"Well?" said Mr. Gale. 

The door opened and, hardly able to believe his eyes, he saw his clothesthrown into the room. Hunger was forgotten, and he almost smiled as hehastily dressed himself. 

The smile vanished as he thought of the people in the streets, and in athoughtful fashion he made his way slowly downstairs. The bright face ofMiss Miller appeared at the parlor door. 

"Better?" she smiled. 

Mr. Gale reddened and, drawing himself up stiffly, made no reply. 

"That's polite, " said the girl, indignantly. "After giving you yourclothes, too. What do you think my uncle will say to me? He was going tokeep you here till Friday. "

Mr. Gale muttered an apology. "I've made a fool of myself, " he added. 

Miss Miller nodded cheerfully. "Are you hungry?" she inquired. 

The other drew himself up again. 

"Because there is some nice cold beef left, " said the girl, glancinginto the room. 

Mr. Gale started and, hardly able to believe in his good fortune, followed her inside. In a very short time the cold beef was a thing ofthe past, and the young man, toying with his beer-glass, sat listeningto a lecture on his behavior couched in the severest terms his hostesscould devise. 

"You'll be the laughing-stock of the place, " she concluded. 

"I shall go away, " he said, gloomily. 

"I shouldn't do that, " said the girl, with a judicial air; "live itdown. "

"I shall go away, " repeated Mr. Gale, decidedly. "I shall ship for adeep-sea voyage. "

Miss Miller sighed. "It's too bad, " she said, slowly; "perhaps youwouldn't look so foolish if--"

"If what?" inquired the other, after a long pause. 

"If, " said Miss Miller, looking down, "if--if--"

Mr. Gale started and trembled violently, as a wild idea, born of herblushes, occurred to him. 

"If, " he said, in quivering tones, "if--if--"

"Go on, " said the girl, softly. "Why, I got as far as that: and you area man. "

Mr. Gale's voice became almost inaudible. "If we got married, do youmean?" he said, at last. 

"Married!" exclaimed Miss Miller, starting back a full two inches. "Goodgracious! the man is mad after all. "

The bitter and loudly expressed opinion of Mr. Wragg when he returned anhour later was that they were both mad. 

[Illustration: THE DREAMER]

The Dreamer

Dreams and warnings are things I don't believe in, said the nightwatchman. The only dream I ever 'ad that come anything like true wasonce when I dreamt I came in for a fortune, and next morning I foundhalf a crown in the street, which I sold to a man for fourpence. Andonce, two days arter my missis 'ad dreamt she 'ad spilt a cup of teadown the front of 'er Sunday dress, she spoilt a pot o' paint of mine bysitting in it. 

The only other dream I know of that come true happened to the cook of abark I was aboard of once, called the _Southern Belle_. He was asilly, pasty-faced sort o' chap, always giving hisself airs abouteddication to sailormen who didn't believe in it, and one night, when wewas homeward-bound from Sydney, he suddenly sat up in 'is bunk andlaughed so loud that he woke us all up. 

"Wot's wrong, cookie?" ses one o' the chaps. 

"I was dreaming, " ses the cook, "such a funny dream. I dreamt old BillFoster fell out o' the foretop and broke 'is leg. "

"Well, wot is there to laugh at in that?" ses old Bill, very sharp. 

"It was funny in my dream, " ses the cook. "You looked so comic with yourleg doubled up under you, you can't think. It would ha' made a catlaugh. "

Bill Foster said he'd make 'im laugh the other side of his face if hewasn't careful, and then we went off to sleep agin and forgot all aboutit. 

If you'll believe me, on'y three days arterwards pore Bill did fall outo' the foretop and break his leg. He was surprised, but I never see aman so surprised as the cook was. His eyes was nearly starting out of'is head, but by the time the other chaps 'ad picked Bill up and asked'im whether he was hurt, cook 'ad pulled 'imself together agin and wasgiving himself such airs it was perfectly sickening. 

"My dreams always come true, " he ses. "It's a kind o' second sight withme. It's a gift, and, being tender-'arted, it worries me terriblesometimes. "

He was going on like that, taking credit for a pure accident, when thesecond officer came up and told 'em to carry Bill below. He was inagony, of course, but he kept 'is presence of mind, and as they passedthe cook he gave 'im such a clip on the side of the 'ead as nearly brokeit. 

"That's for dreaming about me, " he ses. 

The skipper and the fust officer and most of the hands set 'is legbetween them, and arter the skipper 'ad made him wot he calledcomfortable, but wot Bill called something that I won't soil my ears byrepeating, the officers went off and the cook came and sat down by theside o' Bill and talked about his gift. 

"I don't talk about it as a rule, " he ses, "'cos it frightens people. "

"It's a wonderful gift, cookie, " ses Charlie Epps. 

All of 'em thought the same, not knowing wot a fust-class liar the cookwas, and he sat there and lied to 'em till he couldn't 'ardly speak, hewas so 'oarse. 

"My grandmother was a gypsy, " he ses, "and it's in the family. Thingsthat are going to 'appen to people I know come to me in dreams, same aspore Bill's did. It's curious to me sometimes when I look round at youchaps, seeing you going about 'appy and comfortable, and knowing all thetime 'orrible things that is going to 'appen to you. Sometimes it givesme the fair shivers. "

"Horrible things to us, slushy?" ses Charlie, staring. 

"Yes, " ses the cook, nodding. "I never was on a ship afore with such alot of unfortunit men aboard. Never. There's two pore fellers wot'll bedead corpses inside o' six months, sitting 'ere laughing and talking asif they was going to live to ninety. Thank your stars you don't 'avesuch dreams. "

"Who--who are the two, cookie?" ses Charlie, arter a bit. 

"Never mind, Charlie, " ses the cook, in a sad voice; "it would do nogood if I was to tell you. Nothing can alter it. "

"Give us a hint, " ses Charlie. 

"Well, I'll tell you this much, " ses the cook, arter sitting with his'ead in his 'ands, thinking; "one of 'em is nearly the ugliest man inthe fo'c's'le and the other ain't. "

O' course, that didn't 'elp 'em much, but it caused a lot of argufying, and the ugliest man aboard, instead o' being grateful, behaved more likea wild beast than a Christian when it was pointed out to him that he wassafe. 

Arter that dream about Bill, there was no keeping the cook in his place. He 'ad dreams pretty near every night, and talked little bits of 'em inhis sleep. Little bits that you couldn't make head nor tail of, and whenwe asked 'im next morning he'd always shake his 'ead and say, "Nevermind. " Sometimes he'd mention a chap's name in 'is sleep and make 'imnervous for days. 

It was an unlucky v'y'ge that, for some of 'em. About a week arter poreBill's accident Ted Jones started playing catch-ball with another chapand a empty beer-bottle, and about the fifth chuck Ted caught it withhis face. We thought 'e was killed at fust--he made such a noise; butthey got 'im down below, and, arter they 'ad picked out as much brokenglass as Ted would let 'em, the second officer did 'im up in sticking-plaster and told 'im to keep quiet for an hour or two. 

Ted was very proud of 'is looks, and the way he went on was alarming. Fust of all he found fault with the chap 'e was playing with, and thenhe turned on the cook. 

"It's a pity you didn't see that in a dream, " he ses, tryin' to sneer, on'y the sticking-plaster was too strong for 'im. 

"But I did see it, " ses the cook, drawin' 'imself up. 

"_Wot_?" ses Ted, starting. 

"I dreamt it night afore last, just exactly as it 'appened, " ses thecook, in a offhand way. 

"Why didn't you tell me, then?" ses Ted choking. 

"It 'ud ha' been no good, " ses the cook, smiling and shaking his 'ead. "Wot I see must 'appen. I on'y see the future, and that must be. "

"But you stood there watching me chucking the bottle about, " ses Ted, getting out of 'is bunk. "Why didn't you stop me?"

"You don't understand, " ses the cook. "If you'd 'ad more eddication--"

He didn't 'ave time to say any more afore Ted was on him, and cookie, being no fighter, 'ad to cook with one eye for the next two or threedays. He kept quiet about 'is dreams for some time arter that, but itwas no good, because George Hall, wot was a firm believer, gave 'im alicking for not warning 'im of a sprained ankle he got skylarking, andBob Law took it out of 'im for not telling 'im that he was going to lose'is suit of shore-going togs at cards. 

[Illustration: "'Why didn't you tell me, then?' ses Ted. "]

The only chap that seemed to show any good feeling for the cook was ayoung feller named Joseph Meek, a steady young chap wot was goin' to bemarried to old Bill Foster's niece as soon as we got 'ome. Nobody elseknew it, but he told the cook all about it on the quiet. He said she wastoo good for 'im, but, do all he could, he couldn't get her to see it. 

"My feelings 'ave changed, " he ses. 

"P'r'aps they'll change agin, " ses the cook, trying to comfort 'im. 

Joseph shook his 'ead. "No, I've made up my mind, " he ses, very slow. "I'm young yet, and, besides, I can't afford it; but 'ow to get out ofit I don't know. Couldn't you 'ave a dream agin it for me?"

"Wot d'ye mean?" ses the cook, firing up. "Do you think I make my dreamsup?"

"No, no; cert'inly not, " ses Joseph, patting 'im on the shoulder; "butcouldn't you do it just for once? 'Ave a dream that me and Emily arekilled a few days arter the wedding. Don't say in wot way, 'cos shemight think we could avoid it; just dream we are killed. Bill's alwaysbeen a superstitious man, and since you dreamt about his leg he'dbelieve anything; and he's that fond of Emily I believe he'd 'ave thewedding put off, at any rate--if I put him up to it. "

It took 'im three days and a silver watch-chain to persuade the cook, but he did at last; and one arternoon, when old Bill, who was getting onfust-class, was resting 'is leg in 'is bunk, the cook went below andturned in for a quiet sleep. 

For ten minutes he was as peaceful as a lamb, and old Bill, who 'ad beenlaying in 'is bunk with an eye open watching 'im, was just dropping off'imself, when the cook began to talk in 'is sleep, and the very fustwords made Bill sit up as though something 'ad bit 'im. 

"There they go, " ses the cook, "Emily Foster and Joseph Meek--andthere's old Bill, good old Bill, going to give the bride away. How 'appythey all look, especially Joseph!"

Old Bill put his 'and to his ear and leaned out of his bunk. 

"There they go, " ses the cook agin; "but wot is that 'orrible blackthing with claws that's 'anging over Bill?"

Pore Bill nearly fell out of 'is bunk, but he saved 'imself at the lastmoment and lay there as pale as death, listening. 

"It must be meant for Bill, " ses the cook. "Well, pore Bill; he won'tknow of it, that's one thing. Let's 'ope it'll be sudden. "

He lay quiet for some time and then he began again. 

"No, " he ses, "it isn't Bill; it's Joseph and Emily, stark and stiff, and they've on'y been married a week. 'Ow awful they look! Pore things. Oh! oh! o-oh!"

He woke up with a shiver and began to groan and then 'e sat up in hisbunk and saw old Bill leaning out and staring at 'im. 

"You've been dreaming, cook, " ses Bill, in a trembling voice. 

"'Ave I?" ses the cook. "How do you know?"

"About me and my niece, " ses Bill; "you was talking in your sleep. "

"You oughtn't to 'ave listened, " ses the cook, getting out of 'is bunkand going over to 'im. "I 'ope you didn't 'ear all I dreamt. 'Ow muchdid you hear?"

Bill told 'im, and the cook sat there, shaking his 'ead. "Thankgoodness, you didn't 'ear the worst of it, " he ses. 

"_Worst_!" ses Bill. "Wot, was there any more of it?"

"Lot's more, " ses the cook. "But promise me you won't tell Joseph, Bill. Let 'im be happy while he can; it would on'y make 'im miserable, and itwouldn't do any good. "

"I don't know so much about that, " ses Bill, thinking about thearguments some of them had 'ad with Ted about the bottle. "Was it arterthey was married, cookie, that it 'appened? Are you sure?"

"Certain sure. It was a week arter, " ses the cook. 

"Very well, then, " ses Bill, slapping 'is bad leg by mistake; "if theydidn't marry, it couldn't 'appen, could it?"

"Don't talk foolish, " ses the cook; "they must marry. I saw it in mydream. "

"Well, we'll see, " ses Bill. "I'm going to 'ave a quiet talk with Josephabout it, and see wot he ses. I ain't a-going to 'ave my pore galmurdered just to please you and make your dreams come true. "

He 'ad a quiet talk with Joseph, but Joseph wouldn't 'ear of it at fust. He said it was all the cook's nonsense, though 'e owned up that it wasfunny that the cook should know about the wedding and Emily's name, andat last he said that they would put it afore Emily and let her decide. 

That was about the last dream the cook had that v'y'ge, although he toldold Bill one day that he had 'ad the same dream about Joseph and Emilyagin, so that he was quite certain they 'ad got to be married andkilled. He wouldn't tell Bill 'ow they was to be killed, because 'e saidit would make 'im an old man afore his time; but, of course, he 'ad tosay that _if_ they wasn't married the other part couldn't cometrue. He said that as he 'ad never told 'is dreams before--except in thecase of Bill's leg--he couldn't say for certain that they couldn't beprevented by taking care, but p'r'aps, they could; and Bill pointed outto 'im wot a useful man he would be if he could dream and warn people intime. 

By the time we got into the London river old Bill's leg was getting onfust-rate, and he got along splendid on a pair of crutches the carpenter'ad made for him. Him and Joseph and the cook had 'ad a good many talksabout the dream, and the old man 'ad invited the cook to come along 'omewith 'em, to be referred to when he told the tale. 

"I shall take my opportunity, " he ses, "and break it to 'er gentle like. When I speak to you, you chip in, and not afore. D'ye understand?"

We went into the East India Docks that v'y'ge, and got there early on alovely summer's evening. Everybody was 'arf crazy at the idea o' goingashore agin, and working as cheerful and as willing as if they liked it. There was a few people standing on the pier-head as we went in, andamong 'em several very nice-looking young wimmen. 

"My eye, Joseph, " ses the cook, who 'ad been staring hard at one of 'em, "there's a fine gal--lively, too. Look 'ere!"

[Illustration: "'I shall take my opportunity, ' he ses, 'and break it to'er gentle like. '"]

He kissed 'is dirty paw--which is more than I should 'ave liked to 'avedone it if it 'ad been mine--and waved it, and the gal turned round andshook her 'ead at 'im. 

"Here, that'll do, " ses Joseph, very cross. "That's my gal; that's myEmily. "

"Eh?" says the cook. "Well, 'ow was I to know? Besides, you're a-givingof her up. "

Joseph didn't answer 'im. He was staring at Emily, and the more hestared the better-looking she seemed to grow. She really was an uncommonnice-looking gal, and more than the cook was struck with her. 

"Who's that chap standing alongside of her?" ses the cook. 

"It's one o' Bill's sister's lodgers, " ses Joseph, who was looking verybad-tempered. "I should like to know wot right he 'as to come 'ere towelcome me 'ome. I don't want 'im. "

"P'r'aps he's fond of 'er, " ses the cook. "I could be, very easy. "

"I'll chuck 'im in the dock if he ain't careful, " ses Joseph, turningred in the face. 

He waved his 'and to Emily, who didn't 'appen to be looking at themoment, but the lodger waved back in a careless sort of way and thenspoke to Emily, and they both waved to old Bill who was standing on hiscrutches further aft. 

By the time the ship was berthed and everything snug it was quite dark, and old Bill didn't know whether to take the cook 'ome with 'im andbreak the news that night, or wait a bit. He made up his mind at last toget it over and done with, and arter waiting till the cook 'ad cleaned'imself they got a cab and drove off. 

Bert Simmons, the lodger, 'ad to ride on the box, and Bill took up somuch room with 'is bad leg that Emily found it more comfortable to siton Joseph's knee; and by the time they got to the 'ouse he began to seewot a silly mistake he was making. 

"Keep that dream o' yours to yourself till I make up my mind, " he ses tothe cook, while Bill and the cabman were calling each other names. 

"Bill's going to speak fust, " whispers the cook. 

The lodger and Emily 'ad gone inside, and Joseph stood there, fidgeting, while the cabman asked Bill, as a friend, why he 'adn't paid twopencemore for his face, and Bill was wasting his time trying to think ofsomething to say to 'urt the cabman's feelings. Then he took Bill by thearm as the cab drove off and told 'im not to say nothing about thedream, because he was going to risk it. 

"Stuff and nonsense, " ses Bill. "I'm going to tell Emily. It's my dooty. Wot's the good o' being married if you're going to be killed?"

He stumped in on his crutches afore Joseph could say any more, and, arter letting his sister kiss 'im, went into the front room and satdown. There was cold beef and pickles on the table and two jugs o' beer, and arter just telling his sister 'ow he fell and broke 'is leg, theyall sat down to supper. 

Bert Simmons sat on one side of Emily and Joseph the other, and the cookcouldn't 'elp feeling sorry for 'er, seeing as he did that sometimes shewas 'aving both hands squeezed at once under the table and could 'ardlyget a bite in edgeways. 

Old Bill lit his pipe arter supper, and then, taking another glass o'beer, he told 'em about the cook dreaming of his accident three daysafore it happened. They couldn't 'ardly believe it at fust, but when hewent on to tell 'em the other things the cook 'ad dreamt, and thateverything 'ad 'appened just as he dreamt it, they all edged away fromthe cook and sat staring at him with their mouths open. 

"And that ain't the worst of it, " ses Bill. 

"That's enough for one night, Bill, " ses Joseph, who was staring at BertSimmons as though he could eat him. "Besides, I believe it was on'ychance. When cook told you 'is dream it made you nervous, and that's whyyou fell. "

"Nervous be blowed!" ses Bill; and then he told 'em about the dream he'ad heard while he was laying in 'is bunk. 

Bill's sister gave a scream when he 'ad finished, and Emily, wot wassitting next to Joseph, got up with a shiver and went and sat next toBert Simmons and squeezed his coat-sleeve. 

"It's all nonsense!" ses Joseph, starting up. "And if it wasn't, truelove would run the risk. I ain't afraid!"

"It's too much to ask a gal, " ses Bert Simmons, shaking his 'ead. 

"I couldn't dream of it, " ses Emily. "Wot's the use of being married fora week? Look at uncle's leg--that's enough for me!"

They all talked at once then, and Joseph tried all he could to persuadeEmily to prove to the cook that 'is dreams didn't always come true; butit was no good. Emily said she wouldn't marry 'im if he 'ad a million ayear, and her aunt and uncle backed her up in it--to say nothing of BertSimmons. 

"I'll go up and get your presents, Joseph, " she ses; and she ranupstairs afore anybody could stop her. 

Joseph sat there as if he was dazed, while everybody gave 'im goodadvice, and said 'ow thankful he ought to be that the cook 'ad saved himby 'is dreaming. And by and by Emily came downstairs agin with thepresents he 'ad given 'er and put them on the table in front of 'im. 

"There's everything there but that little silver brooch you gave me, Joseph, " she ses, "and I lost that the other evening when I was outwith--with--for a walk. "

Joseph tried to speak, but couldn't. 

"It was six-and-six, 'cos I was with you when you bought it, " ses Emily;"and as I've lost it, it's on'y fair I should pay for it. "

She put down 'arf a sovereign with the presents, and Joseph sat staringat it as if he 'ad never seen one afore. 

"And you needn't mind about the change, Joseph, " ses Emily; "that'll'elp to make up for your disappointment. "

Old Bill tried to turn things off with a bit of a laugh. "Why, you'remade o' money, Emily, " he ses. 

"Ah! I haven't told you yet, " ses Emily, smiling at him; "that's alittle surprise I was keeping for you. Aunt Emma--pore Aunt Emma, Ishould say--died while you was away and left me all 'er furniture andtwo hundred pounds. "

Joseph made a choking noise in his throat and then 'e got up, leavingthe presents and the 'arf-sovereign on the table, and stood by the door, staring at them. 

"Good-night all, " he ses. Then he went to the front door and opened it, and arter standing there a moment came back as though he 'ad forgottensomething. 

"Are you coming along now?" he ses to the cook. 

"Not just yet, " ses the cook, very quick. 

"I'll wait outside for you, then, " ses Joseph, grinding his teeth. "Don't be long. "

[Illustration: ANGELS' VISITS]

ANGELS' VISITS

Mr. William Jobling leaned against his door-post, smoking. The eveningair, pleasant in its coolness after the heat of the day, caressed hisshirt-sleeved arms. Children played noisily in the long, dreary street, and an organ sounded faintly in the distance. To Mr. Jobling, who hadjust consumed three herrings and a pint and a half of strong tea, thescene was delightful. He blew a little cloud of smoke in the air, andwith half-closed eyes corrected his first impression as to the tunebeing played round the corner. 

"Bill!" cried the voice of Mrs. Jobling, who was washing-up in the tinyscullery. 

"'Ullo!" responded Mr. Jobling, gruffly. 

"You've been putting your wet teaspoon in the sugar-basin, and--well, Ideclare, if you haven't done it again. "

"Done what?" inquired her husband, hunching his shoulders. 

"Putting your herringy knife in the butter. Well, you can eat it now; Iwon't. A lot of good me slaving from morning to night and buying goodfood when you go and spoil it like that. "

Mr. Jobling removed the pipe from his mouth. "Not so much of it, " hecommanded. "I like butter with a little flavor to it. As for yourslaving all day, you ought to come to the works for a week; you'd knowwhat slavery was then. "

Mrs. Jobling permitted herself a thin, derisive cackle, drownedhurriedly in a clatter of tea-cups as her husband turned and lookedangrily up the little passage. 

"Nag! nag! nag!" said Mr. Jobling. 

He paused expectantly. 

"Nag! nag! nag! from morning till night, " he resumed. "It begins in themorning and it goes on till bedtime. "

"It's a pity--" began Mrs. Jobling. 

"Hold your tongue, " said her husband, sternly; "I don't want any of yourback answers. It goes on all day long up to bedtime, and last night Ilaid awake for two hours listening to you nagging in your sleep. "

He paused again. 

"Nagging in your sleep, " he repeated. 

There was no reply. 

"Two hours!" he said, invitingly; "two whole hours, without a stop. "

"I 'ope it done you good, " retorted his wife. "I noticed you did wipeone foot when you come in to-night. "

Mr. Jobling denied the charge hotly, and, by way of emphasizing hisdenial, raised his foot and sent the mat flying along the passage. Honorsatisfied, he returned to the door-post and, looking idly out on thestreet again, exchanged a few desultory remarks with Mr. Joe Brown, who, with his hands in his pockets, was balancing himself with great skill onthe edge of the curb opposite. 

His gaze wandered from Mr. Brown to a young and rather stylishly-dressedwoman who was approaching--a tall, good-looking girl with a slight limp, whose hat encountered unspoken feminine criticism at every step. Theireyes met as she came up, and recognition flashed suddenly into bothfaces. 

"Fancy seeing you here!" said the girl. "Well, this is a pleasantsurprise. "

She held out her hand, and Mr. Jobling, with a fierce glance at Mr. Brown, who was not behaving, shook it respectfully. 

"I'm so glad to see you again, " said the girl; "I know I didn't thankyou half enough the other night, but I was too upset. "

"Don't mention it, " said Mr. Jobling, in a voice the humility of whichwas in strong contrast to the expression with which he was regarding theantics of Mr. Brown, as that gentleman wafted kisses to the four windsof heaven. 

There was a pause, broken by a short, dry cough from the parlor window. The girl, who was almost touching the sill, started nervously. 

"It's only my missis, " said Mr. Jobling. 

The girl turned and gazed in at the window. Mr. Jobling, with the stemof his pipe, performed a brief ceremony of introduction. 

"Good-evening, " said Mrs. Jobling, in a thin voice. "I don't know whoyou are, but I s'pose my 'usband does. "

"I met him the other night, " said the girl, with a bright smile; "Islipped on a piece of peel or something and fell, and he was passing andhelped me up. "

Mrs. Jobling coughed again. "First I've heard of it, " she remarked. 

"I forgot to tell you, " said Mr. Jobling, carelessly. "I hope you wasn'thurt much, miss?"

"I twisted my ankle a bit, that's all, " said the girl; "it's painfulwhen I walk. "

"Painful now?" inquired Mr. Jobling, in concern. 

The girl nodded. "A little; not very. "

Mr. Jobling hesitated; the contortions of Mr. Brown's face as he stroveto make a wink carry across the road would have given pause to a bolderman; and twice his wife's husky little cough had sounded from thewindow. 

"I s'pose you wouldn't like to step inside and rest for five minutes?"he said, slowly. 

"Oh, thank you, " said the girl, gratefully; "I should like to. It--itreally is very painful. I ought not to have walked so far. "

She limped in behind Mr. Jobling, and after bowing to Mrs. Jobling sankinto the easy-chair with a sigh of relief and looked keenly round theroom. Mr. Jobling disappeared, and his wife flushed darkly as he cameback with his coat on and his hair wet from combing. An awkward silenceensued. 

"How strong your husband is!" said the girl, clasping her handsimpulsively. 

"Is he?" said Mrs. Jobling. 

"He lifted me up as though I had been a feather, " responded the girl. "He just put his arm round my waist and had me on my feet before I knewwhere I was. "

"Round your waist?" repeated Mrs. Jobling. 

"Where else should I put it?" broke in her husband, with suddenviolence. 

His wife made no reply, but sat gazing in a hostile fashion at the bold, dark eyes and stylish hat of the visitor. 

"I should like to be strong, " said the latter, smiling agreeably over atMr. Jobling. 

"When I was younger, " said that gratified man, "I can assure you Ididn't know my own strength, as the saying is. I used to hurt peoplejust in play like, without knowing it. I used to have a hug like abear. "

"Fancy being hugged like that!" said the girl. "How awful!" she added, hastily, as she caught the eye of the speechless Mrs. Jobling. 

"Like a bear, " repeated Mr. Jobling, highly pleased at the impression hehad made. "I'm pretty strong now; there ain't many as I'm afraid of. "

He bent his arm and thoughtfully felt his biceps, and Mrs. Joblingalmost persuaded herself that she must be dreaming, as she saw the girllean forward and pinch Mr. Jobling's arm. Mr. Jobling was surprised too, but he had the presence of mind to bend the other. 

"Enormous!" said the girl, "and as hard as iron. What a prize-fighteryou'd have made!"

"He don't want to do no prize-fighting, " said Mrs. Jobling, recoveringher speech; "he's a respectable married man. "

Mr. Jobling shook his head over lost opportunities. "I'm too old, " heremarked. 

"He's forty-seven, " said his wife. 

"Best age for a man, in my opinion, " said the girl; "just entering hisprime. And a man is as old as he feels, you know. "

Mr. Jobling nodded acquiescence and observed that he always felt abouttwenty-two; a state of affairs which he ascribed to regular habits, anda great partiality for the company of young people. 

"I was just twenty-two when I married, " he mused, "and my missis wasjust six months--"

"You leave my age alone, " interrupted his wife, trembling with passion. "I'm not so fond of telling my age to strangers. "

"You told mine, " retorted Mr. Jobling, "and nobody asked you to do that. Very free you was in coming out with mine. "

"I ain't the only one that's free, " breathed the quivering Mrs. Jobling. "I 'ope your ankle is better?" she added, turning to the visitor. 

"Much better, thank you, " was the reply. 

"Got far to go?" queried Mrs. Jobling. 

The girl nodded. "But I shall take a tram at the end of the street, " shesaid, rising. 

Mr. Jobling rose too, and all that he had ever heard or read aboutetiquette came crowding into his mind. A weekly journal patronized byhis wife had three columns regularly, but he taxed his memory in vainfor any instructions concerning brown-eyed strangers with sprainedankles. He felt that the path of duty led to the tram-lines. In asomewhat blundering fashion he proffered his services; the girl acceptedthem as a matter of course. 

Mrs. Jobling, with lips tightly compressed, watched them from the door. The girl, limping slightly, walked along with the utmost composure, butthe bearing of her escort betokened a mind fully conscious of thescrutiny of the street. 

He returned in about half an hour, and having this time to run thegauntlet of the street alone, entered with a mien which caused hiswife's complaints to remain unspoken. The cough of Mr. Brown, aparticularly contagious one, still rang in his ears, and he sat for sometime in fierce silence. 

"I see her on the tram, " he said, at last "Her name's Robinson--MissRobinson. "

"In-deed!" said his wife. 

"Seems a nice sort o' girl, " said Mr. Jobling, carelessly. "She's tookquite a fancy to you. "

"I'm sure I'm much obliged to her, " retorted his wife. 

[Illustration: "He astonished Mrs. Jobling next day by the gift of ageranium. "]

"So I--so I asked her to give you a look in now and then, " continued Mr. Jobling, filling his pipe with great care, "and she said she would. It'll cheer you up a bit. "

Mrs. Jobling bit her lip and, although she had never felt more fluent inher life, said nothing. Her husband lit his pipe, and after a rapidglance in her direction took up an old newspaper and began to read. 

He astonished Mrs. Jobling next day by the gift of a geranium in fullbloom. Surprise impeded her utterance, but she thanked him at last withsome warmth, and after a little deliberation decided to put it in thebedroom. 

Mr. Jobling looked like a man who has suddenly discovered a flaw in hiscalculations. "I was thinking of the front parlor winder, " he said, atlast. 

"It'll get more sun upstairs, " said his wife. 

She took the pot in her arms, and disappeared. Her surprise when shecame down again and found Mr. Jobling rearranging the furniture, andeven adding a choice ornament or two from the kitchen, was too elaborateto escape his notice. 

"Been going to do it for some time, " he remarked. 

Mrs. Jobling left the room and strove with herself in the scullery. Shecame back pale of face and with a gleam in her eye which her husband wastoo busy to notice. 

"It'll never look much till we get a new hearthrug, " she said, shakingher head. "They've got one at Jackson's that would be just the thing;and they've got a couple of tall pink vases that would brighten up thefireplace wonderful. They're going for next to nothing, too. "

Mr. Jobling's reply took the form of uncouth and disagreeable growlings. After that phase had passed he sat for some time with his hand placedprotectingly in his trouser-pocket. Finally, in a fierce voice, heinquired the cost. 

Ten minutes later, in a state fairly evenly divided between pleasure andfury, Mrs. Jobling departed with the money. Wild yearnings for couragethat would enable her to spend the money differently, and confront thedismayed Mr. Jobling in a new hat and jacket, possessed her on the way;but they were only yearnings, twenty-five years' experience of herhusband's temper being a sufficient safeguard. 

Miss Robinson came in the day after as they were sitting down to tea. Mr. Jobling, who was in his shirt-sleeves, just had time to disappear asthe girl passed the window. His wife let her in, and after five remarksabout the weather sat listening in grim pleasure to the efforts of Mr. Jobling to find his coat. He found it at last, under a chair cushion, and, somewhat red of face, entered the room and greeted the visitor. 

Conversation was at first rather awkward. The girl's eyes wandered roundthe room and paused in astonishment on the pink vases; the beauty of therug also called for notice. 

"Yes, they're pretty good, " said Mr. Jobling, much gratified by herapproval. 

"Beautiful, " murmured the girl. "What a thing it is to have money!" shesaid, wistfully. 

"I could do with some, " said Mr. Jobling, with jocularity. He helpedhimself to bread and butter and began to discuss money and how to spendit. His ideas favored retirement and a nice little place in the country. 

"I wonder you don't do it, " said the girl, softly. 

Mr. Jobling laughed. "Gingell and Watson don't pay on those lines, " hesaid. "We do the work and they take the money. "

"It's always the way, " said the girl, indignantly; "they have all theluxuries, and the men who make the money for them all the hardships. Iseem to know the name Gingell and Watson. I wonder where I've seen it?"

"In the paper, p'r'aps, " said Mr. Jobling. 

"Advertising?" asked the girl. 

Mr. Jobling shook his head. "Robbery, " he replied, seriously. "It was inlast week's paper. Somebody got to the safe and got away with ninehundred pounds in gold and bank-notes. "

"I remember now, " said the girl, nodding. "Did they catch them?"

"No, and not likely to, " was the reply. 

Miss Robinson opened her big eyes and looked round with an air of prettydefiance. "I am glad of it, " she said. 

"Glad?" said Mrs. Jobling, involuntarily breaking a self-imposed vow ofsilence. "Glad?"

The girl nodded. "I like pluck, " she said, with a glance in thedirection of Mr. Jobling; "and, besides, whoever took it had as muchright to it as Gingell and Watson; they didn't earn it. "

Mrs. Jobling, appalled at such ideas, glanced at her husband to see howhe received them. "The man's a thief, " she said, with great energy, "andhe won't enjoy his gains. "

"I dare say--I dare say he'll enjoy it right enough, " said Mr. Jobling, "if he ain't caught, that is. "

"I believe he is the sort of man I should like, " declared Miss Robinson, obstinately. 

"I dare say, " said Mrs. Jobling; "and I've no doubt he'd like you. Birdsof a--"

"That'll do, " said her husband, peremptorily; "that's enough about it. The guv'nors can afford to lose it; that's one comfort. "

He leaned over as the girl asked for more sugar and dropped a spoonfulin her cup, expressing surprise that she should like her tea so sweet. Miss Robinson, denying the sweetness, proffered her cup in proof, andMrs. Jobling sat watching with blazing eyes the antics of her husband ashe sipped at it. 

"Sweets to the sweet, " he said, gallantly, as he handed it back. 

Miss Robinson pouted, and, raising the cup to her lips, gazed ardentlyat him over the rim. Mr. Jobling, who certainly felt not more thantwenty-two that evening, stole her cake and received in return a rapfrom a teaspoon. Mr. Jobling retaliated, and Mrs. Jobling, unable toeat, sat looking on in helpless fury at little arts of fascination whichshe had discarded--at Mr. Jobling's earnest request--soon after theirmarriage. 

[Illustration: "They offered Mrs. Jobling her choice of at least ahundred plans for bringing him to his senses. "]

By dint of considerable self-control, aided by an occasional glance fromher husband, she managed to preserve her calm until he returned fromseeing the visitor to her tram. Then her pent-up feelings found vent. Quietly scornful at first, she soon waxed hysterical over his age andfigure. Tears followed as she bade him remember what a good wife she hadbeen to him, loudly claiming that any other woman would have poisonedhim long ago. Speedily finding that tears were of no avail, and that Mr. Jobling seemed to regard them rather as a tribute to his worth thanotherwise, she gave way to fury, and, in a fine, but unpunctuatedpassage, told him her exact opinion of Miss Robinson. 

"It's no good carrying on like that, " said Mr. Jobling, magisterially, "and, what's more, I won't have it. "

"Walking into my house and making eyes at my 'usband, " stormed his wife. 

"So long as I don't make eyes at her there's no harm done, " retorted Mr. Jobling. "I can't help her taking a fancy to me, poor thing. "

"I'd poor thing her, " said his wife. 

"She's to be pitied, " said Mr. Jobling, sternly. "I know how she feels. She can't help herself, but she'll get over it in time. I don't supposeshe thinks for a moment we have noticed her--her--her liking for me, andI'm not going to have her feelings hurt. "

"What about my feelings?" demanded his wife. 

"_You_ have got me, " Mr. Jobling reminded her. 

The nine points of the law was Mrs. Jobling's only consolation for thenext few days. Neighboring matrons, exchanging sympathy for information, wished, strangely enough, that Mr. Jobling was their husband. Failingthat they offered Mrs. Jobling her choice of at least a hundred plansfor bringing him to his senses. 

Mr. Jobling, who was a proud man, met their hostile glances as he passedto and from his work with scorn, until a day came when the hostilityvanished and gave place to smiles. Never so many people in the street, he thought, as he returned from work; certainly never so many smiles. People came hurriedly from their back premises to smile at him, and, ashe reached his door, Mr. Joe Brown opposite had all the appearance of ahuman sunbeam. Tired of smiling faces, he yearned for that of his wife. She came out of the kitchen and met him with a look of sly content. Theperplexed Mr. Jobling eyed her morosely. 

"What are you laughing at me for?" he demanded. 

"I wasn't laughing at you, " said his wife. 

She went back into the kitchen and sang blithely as she bustled over thepreparations for tea. Her voice was feeble, but there was a triumphanteffectiveness about the high notes which perplexed the listener sorely. He seated himself in the new easy-chair--procured to satisfy thesupposed aesthetic tastes of Miss Robinson--and stared at the window. 

"You seem very happy all of a sudden, " he growled, as his wife came inwith the tray. 

"Well, why shouldn't I be?" inquired Mrs. Jobling. "I've got everythingto make me so. "

Mr. Jobling looked at her in undisguised amazement. 

"New easy-chair, new vases, and a new hearthrug, " explained his wife, looking round the room. "Did you order that little table you said youwould?"

"Yes, " growled Mr. Jobling. 

"Pay for it?" inquired his wife, with a trace of anxiety. 

"Yes, " said Mr. Jobling again. 

Mrs. Jobling's face relaxed. "I shouldn't like to lose it at the lastmoment, " she said. "You 'ave been good to me lately, Bill; buying allthese nice things. There's not many women have got such a thoughtfulhusband as what I have. "

"Have you gone dotty? or what?" inquired her bewildered husband. 

"It's no wonder people like you, " pursued Mrs. Jobling, ignoring thequestion, and smiling again as she placed three chairs at the table. "I'll wait a minute or two before I soak the tea; I expect Miss Robinsonwon't be long, and she likes it fresh. "

Mr. Jobling, to conceal his amazement and to obtain a little fresh airwalked out of the room and opened the front door. 

"Cheer oh!" said the watchful Mr. Brown, with a benignant smile. 

Mr. Jobling scowled at him. 

"It's all right, " said Mr. Brown. "You go in and set down; I'm watchingfor her. "

He nodded reassuringly, and, not having curiosity enough to accept theother's offer and step across the road and see what he would get, shadedhis eyes with his hand and looked with exaggerated anxiety up the road. Mr. Jobling, heavy of brow, returned to the parlor and looked hard athis wife. 

"She's late, " said Mrs. Jobling, glancing at the clock. "I do hope she'sall right, but I should feel anxious about her if she was my gal. It's adangerous life. "

"Dangerous life!" said Mr. Jobling, roughly. "What's a dangerous life?"

"Why, hers, " replied his wife, with a nervous smile. "Joe Brown told me. He followed her 'ome last night, and this morning he found out all abouther. "

The mention of Mr. Brown's name caused Mr. Jobling at first to assume anair of indifference; but curiosity overpowered him. 

"What lies has he been telling?" he demanded. 

"I don't think it's a lie, Bill, " said his wife, mildly. "Putting twoand two--"

"What did he say?" cried Mr. Jobling, raising his voice. 

"He said, 'She--she's a lady detective, '" stammered Mrs. Jobling, putting her handkerchief to her unruly mouth. 

"A tec!" repeated her husband. "A lady tec?"

Mrs. Jobling nodded. "Yes, Bill. She--she--she--"

"Well?" said Mr. Jobling, in exasperation. 

"She's being employed by Gingell and Watson, " said his wife. 

Mr. Jobling sprang to his feet, and with scarlet face and clinched fistsstrove to assimilate the information and all its meaning. 

"What--what did she come here for? Do you mean to tell me she thinks_I_ took the money?" he said, huskily, after a long pause. 

Mrs. Jobling bent before the storm. "I think she took a fancy to you, Bill, " she said, timidly. 

Mr. Jobling appeared to swallow something; then he took a step nearer toher. "You let me see you laugh again, that's all, " he said, fiercely. "As for that Jezzybill--"

"There she is, " said his wife, as a knock sounded at the door. "Don'tsay anything to hurt her feelings, Bill. You said she was to be pitied. And it must be a hard life to 'ave to go round and flatter old marriedmen. I shouldn't like it. "

Mr. Jobling, past speech, stood and glared at her. Then, with aninarticulate cry, he rushed to the front door and flung it open. MissRobinson, fresh and bright, stood smiling outside. Within easy distancea little group of neighbors were making conversation, while opposite Mr. Brown awaited events. 

"What d'you want?" demanded Mr. Jobling, harshly. 

Miss Robinson, who had put out her hand, drew it back and gave him aswift glance. His red face and knitted brows told their own story. 

"Oh!" she said, with a winning smile, "will you please tell Mrs. Joblingthat I can't come to tea with her this evening?"

"Isn't there anything else you'd like to say?" inquired Mr. Jobling, disdainfully, as she turned away. 

The girl paused and appeared to reflect. "You can say that I am sorry tomiss an amusing evening, " she said, regarding him steadily. "Good-by. "

Mr. Jobling slammed the door. 

[Illustration: A CIRCULAR TOUR]

A CIRCULAR TOUR

Illness? said the night watchman, slowly. Yes, sailormen get illsometimes, but not 'aving the time for it that other people have, andthere being no doctors at sea, they soon pick up agin. Ashore, if aman's ill he goes to a horse-pittle and 'as a nice nurse to wait on 'im;at sea the mate comes down and tells 'im that there is nothing thematter with 'im, and asks 'im if he ain't ashamed of 'imself. The onlymate I ever knew that showed any feeling was one who 'ad been a doctorand 'ad gone to sea to better 'imself. He didn't believe in medicine;his idea was to cut things out, and he was so kind and tender, and sofond of 'is little box of knives and saws, that you wouldn't ha' thoughtanybody could 'ave had the 'art to say "no" to him. But they did. Iremember 'im getting up at four o'clock one morning to cut a man's legoff, and at ha'-past three the chap was sitting up aloft with four pairso' trousers on and a belaying-pin in his 'and. 

One chap I knew, Joe Summers by name, got so sick o' work one v'y'gethat he went mad. Not dangerous mad, mind you. Just silly. One thing hedid was to pretend that the skipper was 'is little boy, and foller 'imup unbeknown and pat his 'ead. At last, to pacify him, the old manpretended that he was 'is little boy, and a precious handful of a boy hewas too, I can tell you. Fust of all he showed 'is father 'ow theywrestled at school, and arter that he showed 'im 'ow he 'arf killedanother boy in fifteen rounds. Leastways he was going to, but arterseven rounds Joe's madness left 'im all of a sudden and he was as rightas ever he was. 

Sailormen are more frequent ill ashore than at sea; they've got moretime for it, I s'pose. Old Sam Small, a man you may remember by name asa pal o' mine, got ill once, and, like most 'ealthy men who get a littlesomething the matter with 'em, he made sure 'e was dying. He was sharinga bedroom with Ginger Dick and Peter Russet at the time, and early onemorning he woke up groaning with a chill or something which he couldn'taccount for, but which Ginger thought might ha' been partly causedthrough 'im sleeping in the fireplace. 

"Is that you, Sam?" ses Ginger, waking up with the noise and rubbing hiseyes. "Wot's the matter?"

"I'm dying, " ses Sam, with another awful groan. "Good-by, Ginger. "

"Goo'-by, " ses Ginger, turning over and falling fast asleep agin. 

Old Sam picked 'imself up arter two or three tries, and then hestaggered over to Peter Russet's bed and sat on the foot of it, groaning, until Peter woke up very cross and tried to push 'im off withhis feet. 

"I'm dying, Peter, " ses Sam, and 'e rolled over and buried his face inthe bed-clo'es and kicked. Peter Russet, who was a bit scared, sat up inbed and called for Ginger, and arter he 'ad called pretty near a dozentimes Ginger 'arf woke up and asked 'im wot was the matter. 

"Poor old Sam's dying, " ses Peter. 

"I know, " ses Ginger, laying down and cuddling into the piller agin. "Hetold me just now. I've bid 'im good-by. "

Peter Russet asked 'im where his 'art was, but Ginger was asleep agin. Then Peter sat up in bed and tried to comfort Sam, and listened while 'etold 'im wot it felt like to die. How 'e was 'ot and cold all over, burning and shivering, with pains in his inside that he couldn'tdescribe if 'e tried. 

"It'll soon be over, Sam, " ses Peter, kindly, "and all your troubleswill be at an end. While me and Ginger are knocking about at sea tryingto earn a crust o' bread to keep ourselves alive, you'll be quiet and atpeace. "

Sam groaned. "I don't like being too quiet, " he ses. "I was always onefor a bit o' fun--innercent fun. "

Peter coughed. 

"You and Ginger 'av been good pals, " ses Sam; "it's hard to go and leaveyou. "

"We've all got to go some time or other, Sam, " ses Peter, soothing-like. "It's a wonder to me, with your habits, that you've lasted as long asyou 'ave. "

"My _habits_?" ses Sam, sitting up all of a sudden. "Why, youmonkey-faced son of a sea-cook, for two pins I'd chuck you out of thewinder. "

"Don't talk like that on your death-bed, " ses Peter, very shocked. 

Sam was going to answer 'im sharp agin, but just then 'e got a painwhich made 'im roll about on the bed and groan to such an extent thatGinger woke up agin and got out o' bed. 

"Pore old Sam!" he ses, walking across the room and looking at 'im. "'Ave you got any pain anywhere?"

"_Pain_?" ses Sam. "Pain? I'm a mask o' pains all over. "

Ginger and Peter looked at 'im and shook their 'eds, and then they wenta little way off and talked about 'im in whispers. 

"He looks 'arf dead now, " ses Peter, coming back and staring at 'im. "Let's take 'is clothes off, Ginger; it's more decent to die with 'emoff. "

"I think I'll 'ave a doctor, " ses Sam, in a faint voice. 

"You're past doctors, Sam, " ses Ginger, in a kind voice. 

"Better 'ave your last moments in peace, " ses Peter, "and keep yourmoney in your trouser-pockets. "

"You go and fetch a doctor, you murderers, " ses Sam, groaning, as Peterstarted to undress 'im. "Go on, else I'll haunt you with my ghost. "

Ginger tried to talk to 'im about the sin o' wasting money, but it wasall no good, and arter telling Peter wot to do in case Sam died afore hecome back, he went off. He was gone about 'arf an hour, and then he comeback with a sandy-'aired young man with red eyelids and a black bag. 

"Am I dying, sir?" ses Sam, arter the doctor 'ad listened to his lungsand his 'art and prodded 'im all over. 

"We're all dying, " ses the doctor, "only some of us'll go sooner thanothers. "

"Will he last the day, sir?" ses Ginger. 

The doctor looked at Sam agin, and Sam held 'is breath while 'e waitedfor him to answer. "Yes, " ses the doctor at last, "if he does just wot Itell him and takes the medicine I send 'im. "

He wasn't in the room 'arf an hour altogether, and he charged pore Sam ashilling; but wot 'urt Sam even more than that was to hear 'im go offdownstairs whistling as cheerful as if there wasn't a dying man within a'undred miles. 

Peter and Ginger Dick took turns to be with Sam that morning, but in thearternoon the landlady's mother, an old lady who was almost as fat asSam 'imself, came up to look arter 'im a bit. She sat on a chair by theside of 'is bed and tried to amuse 'im by telling 'im of all the death-beds she'd been at, and partikler of one man, the living image of Sam, who passed away in his sleep. It was past ten o'clock when Peter andGinger came 'ome, but they found pore Sam still awake and sitting up inbed holding 'is eyes open with his fingers. 

[Illustration: "She asked 'im whether 'e'd got a fancy for any partiklerspot to be buried in. "]

Sam had another shilling's-worth the next day, and 'is medicine waschanged for the worse. If anything he seemed a trifle better, but thelandlady's mother, wot came up to nurse 'im agin, said it was a badsign, and that people often brightened up just afore the end. She asked'im whether 'e'd got a fancy for any partikler spot to be buried in, and, talking about wot a lot o' people 'ad been buried alive, said she'dask the doctor to cut Sam's 'ead off to prevent mistakes. She got quiteannoyed with Sam for saying, supposing there _was_ a mistake and hecame round in the middle of it, how'd he feel? and said there was nosatisfying some people, do wot you would. 

At the end o' six days Sam was still alive and losing a shilling a day, to say nothing of buying 'is own beef-tea and such-like. Ginger said itwas fair highway robbery, and tried to persuade Sam to go to a'orsepittle, where he'd 'ave lovely nurses to wait on 'im hand and foot, and wouldn't keep 'is best friends awake of a night making 'orriblenoises. 

Sam didn't take kindly to the idea at fust, but as the doctor forbid 'imto get up, although he felt much better, and his money was wasting away, he gave way at last, and at seven o'clock one evening he sent Ginger offto fetch a cab to take 'im to the London Horsepittle. Sam said somethingabout putting 'is clothes on, but Peter Russet said the horsepittlewould be more likely to take him in if he went in the blanket andcounterpane, and at last Sam gave way. Ginger and Peter helped 'imdownstairs, and the cabman laid hold o' one end o' the blanket as theygot to the street-door, under the idea that he was helping, and verynear gave Sam another chill. 

"Keep your hair on, " he ses, as Sam started on 'im. "It'll be three-and-six for the fare, and I'll take the money now. "

"You'll 'ave it when you get there, " ses Ginger. 

"I'll 'ave it now, " ses the cabman. "I 'ad a fare die on the way onceafore. "

Ginger--who was minding Sam's money for 'im because there wasn't apocket in the counterpane--paid 'im, and the cab started. It jolted andrattled over the stones, but Sam said the air was doing 'im good. Hekept 'is pluck up until they got close to the horsepittle, and then 'egot nervous. And 'e got more nervous when the cabman got down off 'isbox and put his 'ed in at the winder and spoke to 'im. 

"'Ave you got any partikler fancy for the London Horsepittle?" he ses. 

"No, " ses Sam. "Why?"

"Well, I s'pose it don't matter, if wot your mate ses is true--thatyou're dying, " ses the cabman. 

"Wot d'ye mean?" says Sam. 

"Nothing, " ses the cabman; "only, fust and last, I s'pose I've drivenfive 'undred people to that 'orsepittle, and only one ever came outagin--and he was smuggled out in a bread-basket. "

Sam's flesh began to creep all over. 

"It's a pity they don't 'ave the same rules as Charing CrossHorsepittle, " ses the cabman. "The doctors 'ave five pounds apiece forevery patient that gets well there, and the consequence is they ain't'ad the blinds down for over five months. "

"Drive me there, " ses Sam. 

"It's a long way, " ses the cabman, shaking his 'ed, "and it 'ud cost youanother 'arf dollar. S'pose you give the London a try?"

"You drive to Charing Cross, " ses Sam, telling Ginger to give 'im the'arf-dollar. "And look sharp; these things ain't as warm as they mightbe. "

The cabman turned his 'orse round and set off agin, singing. The cabstopped once or twice for a little while, and then it stopped for quitea long time, and the cabman climbed down off 'is box and came to thewinder agin. 

"I'm sorry, mate, " he ses, "but did you see me speak to that party justnow?"

"The one you flicked with your whip?" ses Ginger. 

"No; he was speaking to me, " ses the cabman. "The last one, I mean. "

"Wot about it?" ses Peter. 

"He's the under-porter at the horsepittle, " ses the cabman, spitting;"and he tells me that every bed is bung full, and two patients apiece insome of 'em. "

"I don't mind sleeping two in a bed, " ses Sam, who was very tired andcold. 

"No, " ses the cabman, looking at 'im; "but wot about the other one?"

"Well, what's to be done?" ses Peter. 

"You might go to Guy's, " ses the cabman; "that's as good as CharingCross. "

"I b'lieve you're telling a pack o' lies, " ses Ginger. 

"Come out o' my cab, " ses the cabman, very fierce. "Come on, all of you. Out you get. "

Ginger and Peter was for getting out, but Sam wouldn't 'ear of it. Itwas bad enough being wrapped up in a blanket in a cab, without beingturned out in 'is bare feet on the pavement, and at last Gingerapologized to the cabman by saying 'e supposed if he was a liar hecouldn't 'elp it. The cabman collected three shillings more to go toGuy's 'orsepittle, and, arter a few words with Ginger, climbed up on 'isbox and drove off agin. 

They were all rather tired of the cab by this time, and, going overWaterloo Bridge, Ginger began to feel uncommon thirsty, and, leaning outof the winder, he told the cabman to pull up for a drink. He was so longabout it that Ginger began to think he was bearing malice, but just ashe was going to tell 'im agin, the cab pulled up in a quiet littlestreet opposite a small pub. Ginger Dick and Peter went in and 'adsomething and brought one out for Sam. They 'ad another arter that, andGinger, getting 'is good temper back agin, asked the cabman to 'ave one. 

"Look lively about it, Ginger, " ses Sam, very sharp. "You forget 'ow illI am. "

Ginger said they wouldn't be two seconds, and, the cabman calling a boyto mind his 'orse, they went inside. It was a quiet little place, butvery cosey, and Sam, peeping out of the winder, could see all three of'em leaning against the bar and making themselves comfortable. Twice hemade the boy go in to hurry them up, and all the notice they took was togo on at the boy for leaving the horse. 

Pore old Sam sat there hugging 'imself in the bed-clo'es, and gettingwilder and wilder. He couldn't get out of the cab, and 'e couldn't callto them for fear of people coming up and staring at 'im. Ginger, smilingall over with 'appiness, had got a big cigar on and was pretending topinch the barmaid's flowers, and Peter and the cabman was talking tosome other chaps there. The only change Sam 'ad was when the boy walkedthe 'orse up and down the road. 

He sat there for an hour and then 'e sent the boy in agin. This time thecabman lost 'is temper, and, arter chasing the boy up the road, gave ayoung feller twopence to take 'is place and promised 'im anothertwopence when he came out. Sam tried to get a word with 'im as 'epassed, but he wouldn't listen, and it was pretty near 'arf an hourlater afore they all came out, talking and laughing. 

"Now for the 'orsepittle, " ses Ginger, opening the door. "Come on, Peter; don't keep pore old Sam waiting all night. "

"'Arf a tic, " ses the cabman, "'arf a tic; there's five shillings forwaiting, fust. "

"_Wot_?" ses Ginger, staring at 'im. "Arter giving you all themdrinks?"

"Five shillings, " ses the cabman; "two hours' waiting at half a crown anhour. That's the proper charge. "

Ginger thought 'e was joking at fust, and when he found 'e wasn't hecalled 'im all the names he could think of, while Peter Russet stood bysmiling and trying to think where 'e was and wot it was all about. 

"Pay 'im the five bob, Ginger, and 'ave done with it, " ses pore Sam, atlast. "I shall never get to the horsepittle at this rate. "

"Cert'inly not, " ses Ginger, "not if we stay 'ere all night. "

"Pay 'im the five bob, " ses Sam, raising 'is voice; "it's my money. "

"You keep quiet, " ses Ginger, "and speak when your spoke to. Get inside, Peter. "

Peter, wot was standing by blinking and smiling, misunderstood 'im, andwent back inside the pub. Ginger went arter 'im to fetch 'im back, andhearing a noise turned round and saw the cabman pulling Sam out o' thecab. He was just in time to shove 'im back agin, and for the next two orthree minutes 'im and the cabman was 'ard at it. Sam was too busyholding 'is clothes on to do much, and twice the cabman got 'im 'arfout, and twice Ginger got him back agin and bumped 'im back in 'is seatand shut the door. Then they both stopped and took breath. 

"We'll see which gets tired fust, " ses Ginger. "Hold the door inside, Sam. "

The cabman looked at 'im, and then 'e climbed up on to 'is seat and, just as Ginger ran back for Peter Russet, drove off at full speed. 

Pore Sam leaned back in 'is seat panting and trying to wrap 'imself upbetter in the counterpane, which 'ad got torn in the struggle. They wentthrough street arter street, and 'e was just thinking of a nice warm bedand a kind nurse listening to all 'is troubles when 'e found they wasgoing over London Bridge. 

"You've passed it, " he ses, putting his 'ead out of the winder. 

The cabman took no notice, and afore Sam could think wot to make of itthey was in the Whitechapel Road, and arter that, although Sam keptputting his 'ead out of the winder and asking 'im questions, they keptgoing through a lot o' little back streets until 'e began to think thecabman 'ad lost 'is way. They stopped at last in a dark little road, infront of a brick wall, and then the cabman got down and opened a doorand led his 'orse and cab into a yard. 

"Do you call this Guy's Horsepittle?" ses Sam. 

"Hullo!" ses the cabman. "Why, I thought I put you out o' my cab once. "

"I'll give you five minutes to drive me to the 'orsepittle, " ses Sam. "Arter that I shall go for the police. "

"All right, " ses the cabman, taking his 'orse out and leading it into astable. "Mind you don't catch cold. "

He lighted a lantern and began to look arter the 'orse, and pore Sam satthere getting colder and colder and wondering wot 'e was going to do. 

"I shall give you in charge for kidnapping me, " he calls out very loud. 

"Kidnapping?" ses the cabman. "Who do you think wants to kidnap you? Thegate's open, and you can go as soon as you like. "

Sam climbed out of the cab, and holding up the counterpane walked acrossthe yard in 'is bare feet to the stable. "Well, will you drive me 'ome?"he ses. 

"Cert'inly not, " ses the cabman; "I'm going 'ome myself now. It's timeyou went, 'cos I'm going to lock up. "

"'Ow can I go like this?" ses Sam, bursting with passion. "Ain't you gotany sense?"

"Well, wot are you going to do?" ses the cabman, picking 'is teeth witha bit o' straw. 

"Wot would you do if you was me?" ses Sam, calming down a bit and tryingto speak civil. 

[Illustration: "'All right, ' ses the cabman, taking his 'orse out andleading it into a stable. 'Mind you don't catch cold. '"]

"Well, if I was you, " said the cabman, speaking very slow, "I should bemore perlite to begin with; you accused me just now--me, a 'ard-workingman--o' kidnapping you. "

"It was only my fun, " ses Sam, very quick. 

"I ain't kidnapping you, am I?" ses the cabman. 

"Cert'inly not, " ses Sam. 

"Well, then, " ses the cabman, "if I was you I should pay 'arf a crownfor a night's lodging in this nice warm stable, and in the morning Ishould ask the man it belongs to--that's me--to go up to my lodging witha letter, asking for a suit o' clothes and eleven-and-six. "

"Eleven-and-six?" ses Sam, staring. 

"Five bob for two hours' wait, " ses the cabman, "four shillings for thedrive here, and 'arf a crown for the stable. That's fair, ain't it?"

Sam said it was--as soon as he was able to speak--and then the cabmangave 'im a truss of straw to lay on and a rug to cover 'im up with. 

And then, calling 'imself a fool for being so tender-'earted, he leftSam the lantern, and locked the stable-door and went off. 

It seemed like a 'orrid dream to Sam, and the only thing that comforted'im was the fact that he felt much better. His illness seemed to 'avegone, and arter hunting round the stable to see whether 'e could findanything to eat, 'e pulled the rug over him and went to sleep. 

He was woke up at six o'clock in the morning by the cabman opening thedoor. There was a lovely smell o' hot tea from a tin he 'ad in one 'and, and a lovelier smell still from a plate o' bread and butter and bloatersin the other. Sam sniffed so 'ard that at last the cabman noticed it, and asked 'im whether he 'ad got a cold. When Sam explained he seemed tothink a minute or two, and then 'e said that it was 'is breakfast, butSam could 'ave it if 'e liked to make up the money to a pound. 

"Take it or leave it, " he ses, as Sam began to grumble. 

Poor Sam was so 'ungry he took it, and it done him good. By the time he'ad eaten it he felt as right as ninepence, and 'e took such a disliketo the cabman 'e could hardly be civil to 'im. And when the cabman spokeabout the letter to Ginger Dick he spoke up and tried to bate 'im downto seven-and-six. 

"You write that letter for a pound, " ses the cabman, looking at 'im veryfierce, "or else you can walk 'ome in your counterpane, with 'arf theboys in London follering you and trying to pull it off. "

Sam rose 'im to seventeen-and-six, but it was all no good, and at last'e wrote a letter to Ginger Dick, telling 'im to give the cabman a suitof clothes and a pound. 

"And look sharp about it, " he ses. "I shall expect 'em in 'arf an hour. "

"You'll 'ave 'em, if you're lucky, when I come back to change 'orses atfour o'clock, " ses the cabman. "D'ye think I've got nothing to do butfuss about arter you?"

"Why not drive me back in the cab?" ses Sam. 

"'Cos I wasn't born yesterday, " ses the cabman. 

He winked at Sam, and then, whistling very cheerful, took his 'orse outand put it in the cab. He was so good-tempered that 'e got quiteplayful, and Sam 'ad to tell him that when 'e wanted to 'ave his legstickled with a straw he'd let 'im know. 

Some people can't take a 'int, and, as the cabman wouldn't be'ave'imself, Sam walked into a shed that was handy and pulled the door to, and he stayed there until he 'eard 'im go back to the stable for 'isrug. It was only a yard or two from the shed to the cab, and, 'ardlythinking wot he was doing, Sam nipped out and got into it and sathuddled up on the floor. 

He sat there holding 'is breath and not daring to move until the cabman'ad shut the gate and was driving off up the road, and then 'e got up onthe seat and lolled back out of sight. The shops were just opening, thesun was shining, and Sam felt so well that 'e was thankful that 'ehadn't got to the horsepittle arter all. 

The cab was going very slow, and two or three times the cabman 'arfpulled up and waved his whip at people wot he thought wanted a cab, butat last an old lady and gentleman, standing on the edge of the curb witha big bag, held up their 'ands to 'im. The cab pulled in to the curb, and the old gentleman 'ad just got hold of the door and was trying toopen it when he caught sight of Sam. 

"Why, you've got a fare, " he ses. 

"No, sir, " ses the cabman. 

"But I say you 'ave, " ses the old gentleman. 

The cabman climbed down off 'is box and looked in at the winder, and forover two minutes he couldn't speak a word. He just stood there lookingat Sam and getting purpler and purpler about the face. 

"Drive on, cabby, " ses Sam, "Wot are you stopping for?"

The cabman tried to tell 'im, but just then a policeman came walking upto see wot was the matter, and 'e got on the box agin and drove off. Cabmen love policemen just about as much as cats love dogs, and he drovedown two streets afore he stopped and got down agin to finish 'isremarks. 

"Not so much talk, cabman, " ses Sam, who was beginning to enjoy 'imself, "else I shall call the police. "

"Are you coming out o' my cab?" ses the cabman, "or 'ave I got to putyou out?"

"You put me out!" ses Sam, who 'ad tied 'is clothes up with string while'e was in the stable, and 'ad got his arms free. 

The cabman looked at 'im 'elpless for a moment, and then he got up anddrove off agin. At fust Sam thought 'e was going to drive back to thestable, and he clinched 'is teeth and made up 'is mind to 'ave a fightfor it. Then he saw that 'e was really being driven 'ome, and at lastthe cab pulled up in the next street to 'is lodgings, and the cabman, asking a man to give an eye to his 'orse, walked on with the letter. Hewas back agin in a few minutes, and Sam could see by 'is face thatsomething had 'appened. 

"They ain't been 'ome all night, " he ses, sulky-like. 

"Well, I shall 'ave to send the money on to you, " ses Sam, in a off-handway. "Unless you like to call for it. "

[Illustration: "So long. "]

"I'll call for it, matey, " ses the cabman, with a kind smile, as he took'old of his 'orse and led it up to Sam's lodgings. "I know I can trustyou, but it'll save you trouble. But s'pose he's been on the drink andlost the money?"

Sam got out and made a dash for the door, which 'appened to be open. "Itwon't make no difference, " he ses. 

"No difference?" ses the cabman, staring. 

"Not to you, I mean, " ses Sam, shutting the door very slow. "So long. "