id find pleasure in being seen thus with the great and
powerful, if much criticized, Thomas Batchgrew, him to whom several
times, less than a year earlier, she had scathingly referred as
_that man_. His escort in the thoroughfare, and especially
his demeanour towards herself, gave her a standing which she could
otherwise scarcely have attained. Moreover, people might execrate him
in private, but that he had conquered the esteem of their secret souls
was well proved by their genuine eagerness to salute him as he walked
sniffing along. He counted himself one of the seven prides of the
district, and perhaps he was not far out.

"Come in a minute, lass," he said in a low, confidential voice,
as they reached his branch shop, just beyond Malkin's. "I'll--" He
paused.

A motor, apparently enormous, was buzzing motion-less in the wide
entry by the side of the shop. It very slowly moved forward, crossed
the footpath and half the street opposite the Town Hall, impeding a
tram-car, and then curved backward into a position by the kerbstone.
John's Ernest was at the steering-wheel. Councillor Batchgrew stood
still with his mouth open to watch the manoeuvre.

"This is John's Ernest--my son John's eldest. Happen ye know him?"
said Batchgrew to Rachel. "He's a good lad."

John's Ernest, a pleasant-featured young man of twenty-five, blushed
and raised his hat. And Rachel also blushed as she nodded. It was
astonishing that old Batchgrew could have a grandson with so honest
a look on his face, but she had heard that son John, too, was very
different from his father.

"Dunna go till I've seen thee," said Mr. Batchgrew to John's Ernest,
and to Rachel, "Come in, Mrs. Fores."

John's Ernest silenced the car, and extricated himself with practised
rapidity from the driver's seat.

"Where are ye going?" asked his grandfather.

"I'm going to lock the garage doors," said John's Ernest, with a
humorous smile which seemed to add, "Unless you'd like them to be left
open all Saturday afternoon." Rachel vividly remembered the playful,
boyish voice which she had heard one night when the motor-car had
called to take Mr. Batchgrew to Red Cow.

The councillor nodded.

In the small, untidy, disagreeable, malodorous shop, which in about
half a century had scarcely altered its aspect, Thomas Batchgrew
directed Rachel to a corner behind the counter and behind a partition,
with a view of a fragment of the window. As she passed she saw one of
the B