kind of shake of the shoulders, and stretched
out a hand to ring, as his custom was after the day's work, for a draught
of cider.

"Eh? Anything more?" he asked; for the little clerk, having gathered up
his papers, had advanced close to the corner of the writing-table, and
waited there with an air of apology.

"I beg your pardon, sir--the 28th of May. I had no opportunity this
morning, but if I may take the liberty."--

"My birthday, Benny? So it is; and, begad, I believe you're the only soul
to remember it. Stay a moment."--

He rang the bell, and ordered the maidservant to bring in a full jug of
cider and two glasses. At the signal, a small Italian greyhound, who had
been awaiting it, came forward fawning from her lair in the corner, and,
encouraged by a snap of the fingers, leapt up to her master's knee.

"May God send you many, sir, and His mercy follow you all your days!" said
little Mr. Benny, with sudden fervour. Relapsing at once into his
ordinary manner, he produced a scrap of paper and tendered it shyly.
"If you will think it appropriate," he explained.

"The usual compliment? Hand it over, man." Mr. Rosewarne took the paper
and read--

"Another year, another milestone past;
Dear sir, I hope it will not be the last:
But more I hope that, when the road is trod,
You find the Inn, and sit you down with God."

"Thank you, Benny. Your own composition?"

"I ventured to consult my brother, sir. The idea--if I may so call it--
was mine, however."

Mr. Rosewarne leant forward, and picking up a pen, docketed the paper with
the day of the month and the year. He then pulled out a drawer on the
left-hand side of his knee-hole table, selected a packet labelled
"Complimentary, P. B."--his clerk's initials--slipped the new verses under
the elastic band containing similar contributions of twenty years,
replaced the packet, and shut the drawer. The little greyhound, displaced
by these operations, sprang again to his knees, and he fell to fondling
her ears.

"I do not think there will be many more miles, Benny," said he, reaching
for the cider-jug. "But let us drink to the rest of the way."

"A great many, I hope, sir," remonstrated Mr. Benny. "And, sir--talking
about milestones--you will be pleased to hear that Mrs. Benny was confined
this morning. A fine boy."

"That must be the ninth at least."

"The eleventh, sir--six girls and five boys: besides three buried."

"Good Lo