ty now, at the lowest."

"Aye, he's that--every day of it," cried several.

"I've had 'bout enough of it," remarked the large woman gloomily.
"Unless his young niece, or grandniece, or whatever she is, come
to-day, I'm off, and he can find some one else to do his work. Your
own 'ome first, says I."

"Ain't he quiet, then, Missus Simpson?" asked the youngest of the group.

"Listen to him now," she answered, with her hand half raised and her
head turned slantwise towards the open door. From the upper floor
there came a shuffling, sliding sound with a sharp tapping of a stick.
"There he go back and forrards, doing what he call his sentry go. 'Arf
the night through he's at that game, the silly old juggins. At six
o'clock this very mornin there he was beatin' with a stick at my door.
'Turn out, guard!' he cried, and a lot more jargon that I could make
nothing of. Then what with his coughin' and 'awkin' and spittin',
there ain't no gettin' a wink o' sleep. Hark to him now!"

"Missus Simpson, Missus Simpson!" cried a cracked and querulous voice
from above.

"That's him!" she cried, nodding her head with an air of triumph. "He
do go on somethin' scandalous. Yes, Mr. Brewster, sir."

"I want my morning ration, Missus Simpson."

"It's just ready, Mr. Brewster, sir."

"Blessed if he ain't like a baby cryin' for its pap," said the young
woman.

"I feel as if I could shake his old bones up sometimes!" cried Mrs.
Simpson viciously. "But who's for a 'arf of fourpenny?"

The whole company were about to shuffle off to the public house, when a
young girl stepped across the road and touched the housekeeper timidly
upon the arm. "I think that is No. 56 Arsenal View," she said. "Can
you tell me if Mr. Brewster lives here?"

The housekeeper looked critically at the newcomer. She was a girl of
about twenty, broad-faced and comely, with a turned-up nose and large,
honest grey eyes. Her print dress, her straw hat, with its bunch of
glaring poppies, and the bundle she carried, had all a smack of the
country.

"You're Norah Brewster, I s'pose," said Mrs. Simpson, eyeing her up and
down with no friendly gaze.

"Yes, I've come to look after my Granduncle Gregory."

"And a good job too," cried the housekeeper, with a toss of her head.
"It's about time that some of his own folk took a turn at it, for I've
had enough of it. There you are, young woman! In you go and make
yourself at home. There's tea in the caddy and