pained, and the frequent
turning away of his look betrayed that part of the feeling was caused
by observation of the woman herself, but every movement visible on his
features was subdued by patience and mildness. Suffering was a life's
habit with him, and its fruit in this instance that which (spite of
moral commonplace) it least often bears--self-conquest.

'You haven't told me yet,' he said, with quiet disregard of her
irrelevancies, 'whether or not her father's name was Joseph Snowdon.'

'There's no call to hide it. That was his name. I've got letters of his
writin'. "J. J. Snowdon" stands at the end, plain enough. And he was
your son, was he?'

'He was. But have you any reason to think he's dead?'

'Dead! I never heard as he was. But then I never heard as he was
livin', neither. When his wife went, poor thing--an' it was a chill on
the liver, they said; it took her very sudden--he says to me, "Mrs.
Peckover," he says, "I know you for a motherly woman"--just like
that--see?--"I know you for a motherly woman," he says, "an' the idea I
have in my 'ed is as I should like to leave Janey in your care,
'cause," he says, "I've got work in Birmingham, an' I don't see how I'm
to take her with me. Understand me?" he says. "Oh!" I says--not feelin'
quite sure what I'd ought to do--see? "Oh!" I says. "Yes," he says;
"an' between you an' me," he says, "there won't be no misunderstanding.
If you'll keep Janey with you"--an' she was goin' to school at the
time, 'cause she went to the same as my own Clem--that's
Clemintiner--understand?--"if you'll keep Janey with you," he says,
"for a year, or maybe two years, or maybe three years--'cause that
depends on cirkinstances"--understand?--"I'm ready," he says, "to pay
you what it's right that pay I should, an' I'm sure," he says, "as we
shouldn't misunderstand one another." Well, of course I had my own girl
to bring up, an' my own son to look after too. A nice sort o' son; just
when he was beginnin' to do well, an' ought to a paid me back for all
the expense I was at in puttin' him to a business, what must he do but
take his 'ook to Australia.'

Her scrutiny discerned something in the listener's face which led her
to ask:

'Perhaps you've been in Australia yourself, mister?'

'I have.'

The woman paused, speculation at work in her eyes.

'Do you know in what part of the country your son is?' inquired the old
man absently.

'He's wrote me two letters, an' the last, as come mo