e," said the curate
wistfully.

The great man surveyed him silently--wonderingly, too, if the curate had
known. Presently he asked:

"Afraid of hard work?"

"No work is hard to a man with a wife and a home of his own," replied
the curate with simple fervor.

Lord Caversham smiled grimly. He had more homes of his own than he could
conveniently live in, and he had been married three times; but even he
found work hard now and then.

"I wonder!" he said. "Well, good-afternoon. I should like to be
introduced to your fiancee some day."

IX

A TRAMP opened the rectory gate and shambled up the neat gravel walk
toward the house. Taking a short cut through the shrubbery he emerged
suddenly on a little lawn.

On the lawn a lady was sitting in a basket chair beside a perambulator,
the occupant of which was slumbering peacefully. A small but intensely
capable nursemaid, prone on the grass in a curvilinear attitude, was
acting as tunnel to a young gentleman of three who was impersonating a
locomotive.

The tramp approached the group and asked huskily for alms. He was a
burly and unpleasant specimen of his class--a class all too numerous on
the outskirts of the great industrial parish of Smeltingborough. The
lady in the basket chair looked up.

"The rector is out," she said. "If you go into the town you will find
him at the Church Hall and he will investigate your case."

"Oh, the rector is out, is he?" repeated the tramp in tones of distinct
satisfaction.

"Yes," said Eileen.

The tramp advanced another pace.

"Give us half a crown!" he said. "I haven't had a bite of food since
yesterday, lady--nor a drink neither," he added humorously.

"Please go away!" said the lady. "You know where to find the rector."

The tramp smiled unpleasantly, but made no attempt to move.

"You refuse to go away?" the lady said.

"I'll go for half a crown," replied the tramp with the gracious air of
one anxious to oblige a lady.

"Watch baby for a moment, Mary Ellen," said Eileen.

She rose and disappeared into the house, followed by the gratified smile
of the tramp. He was a reasonable man and knew that ladies did not wear
pockets.

"Thirsty weather," he remarked affably.

Mary Ellen, keeping one hand on the shoulder of Master Gerald Caversham
Gilmore and the other on the edge of the baby's perambulator, merely
chuckled sardonically.

The next moment there were footsteps round the corner of the house and
Eileen rea