an' 'e was a dean or
somethink, an' 'e ought to know."

Millie drew a sigh of relief. Then her mood suddenly changed.

"Uncle, let's run," she cried; and without waiting for the protest that
was forming itself on Bindle's lips, she caught him by the hand and
dashed off. After a moment's hesitation Bindle entered into her mood
and the pair tore up Fulham High Street, Millie running obliquely in
front, striving to urge Bindle to a greater pace.

Just as they reached the Heartys' private door, Mr. Hearty himself
emerged on his way to post a letter. Millie running sideways did not
see him. Bindle was unable to avoid the inevitable collision, and
Millie's elbow took her father dead in the centre of his waistcoat and
drove the breath out of his body.

"Oh, father!" cried his horrified daughter.

"Millie!" gasped Mr. Hearty when he had regained sufficient breath for
speech.

"My fault, 'Earty. I likes a run now and again; we was 'avin' a bit of
a race. Millikins beats me in the matter o' legs."

To Mr. Hearty women had limbs, not legs, and he disliked intensely
Bindle's reference to those of his daughter.

"I hope this will not occur again," he said severely. "I shall have to
stop these--these----" Unable to find the word, Mr. Hearty passed on
to the pillar-box.

Millie stood watching him, horror in her eyes.

"Oh, Uncle Joe, am I a very bad girl? Father always makes me feel so
wicked."

"'E'd make an 'oly saint feel a bit of a rip. You're just about as bad
as a first-class angel; but p'raps it 'ud be better not to 'old sports
outside the shop. Might get me a bad name. Now in yer go, young 'un,
an' we'll 'ave another bust next Friday, eh? I'll be seein' 'is nibs
on me way 'ome."

"Good-night, dear Uncle Joe. I'm glad you're my uncle." She put her
arms round his neck and kissed him, and Bindle experienced a curious
sensation in his throat.

"Gawd bless yer, Millikins," Bindle mumbled in an unsteady voice, as
she tripped along the passage.

"'Fancy me sayin' that!" he muttered, as he closed the door. "It kind
o' slipped out."

A few yards down the High Street Bindle met his brother-in-law
returning from the post.

"I'm sorry, 'Earty, about that collision. It was all my fault. I like
playin' wi' kids." There was an unaccustomed humility in Bindle's
voice, assumed for the purpose of making things easier for Millie, that
pleased Mr. Hearty.

"Millie is no longer a child, Joseph," he remar