ffin, an'
sittin' on a tombstone with nuthin' but a sheet round 'em. It would
cure anybody of wantin' ter die. I've told William to stick pins in me
when my time comes."

"Anybody could tell w'en you're dead," said Chook.

"Why, 'ow?" cried Mrs Partridge, eagerly.

"Yer'll stop gassin' about yerself," cried Chook, roughly.

Mrs Partridge started to smile, and then stopped. It dawned slowly on
her mind that she was insulted, and she rose to her feet.

"Thank's fer yer nasty remark," she cried. "That's all the thanks I
get fer comin' to give a 'elpin' 'and. But I know when I'm not wanted."

"Yer don't," said Pinkey, "or yer'd 'ave gone 'ours ago."

Mrs Partridge turned to go, the picture of offended dignity, when her
eyes fell on an apparition in the doorway, and she quailed. It was
William, left safely by the fireside for the night, and now glowering,
not at her as she swiftly divined, but at the hat with the drooping
feathers, twenty years too young for her face. For the first time in
her life she lost her nerve, but with wonderful presence of mind, she
smiled in her agony.

"Why, there you are, William," she cried. "Yer gave me quite a start.
I was just tryin' on Elizabeth's new 'at, to see if it suited me."

As she spoke, she tore out the hatpins with feverish dexterity, and
thrust the hat into Pinkey's astonished hand.

"Take it, yer little fool," she whispered, savagely.

Her face looked suddenly old and withered under the scanty grey hair.

"Good evenin', Mr Partridge--glad ter see yer," cried Chook, advancing
with outstretched hand; but the old man ignored him. His eyes
travelled slowly round the room, taking in every detail of the humble
furniture. The others stood silent with a little fear in their hearts
at the sight of this old man with the face of a sleep-walker; but
suddenly Pinkey walked up to him, and, reaching on tiptoe, kissed him,
her face pink with emotion. It was the first time since her unforgiven
marriage. And she hung on him like a child, her wonderful hair, the
colour of a new penny, heightening the bloodless pallor of the old
man's face. The stolid grey eyes turned misty, and, in silence, he
slowly patted his daughter's cheek.

Chook kept his distance, feeling that he was not wanted. Mrs
Partridge, who had recovered her nerve, came as near cursing as her
placid, selfish nature would permit. She could have bitten her tongue
for spite. She thought of a thousand ways of