him nearly all his life, and I don't think he has very deep
feelings, love. He always seemed friendly with his wife, but not what
you would call affectionate, you know, love. Of course, one doesn't
know what he really felt when she died, but it didn't seem to trouble
him very much."

"That proves nothing," I replied, with the emphasis born of
observation; "the proverb says that 'still waters run deep,' and it is
never more true than in this connection. The wailing widower is
usually easily consoled."

"Yes, love, but I have discovered that you are very imaginative, though
at one time I didn't think so, and you may read your own feelings into
Ted's, you know. I really do think, love, that he has not very deep
feelings."

Soon everything was piled upon the cart, and Ben Goodenough came up to
the old man to inform him that they were ready to leave.

"Now, Ted!" he said, with an assumption of cheerfulness; "we've got
everything on nicely, an' we'll step down with you to t' Clough an' get
'em into their places at t' other end. You'll want to have a look
round, 'appen, before we leave."

"Aye, Ben lad, I tak' it varry kindly 'at ye're givin' yerself all this
trouble. It's friendly, lad, friendly. Aye, I sud like to hev a look
round for t' last time afore we start."

He rose wearily and accompanied Ben up the path. Barjona was standing
at the door, and all three went in. They came out before long, and
there were no traces of emotion on Ted's ruddy face. But as he looked
up and down the garden his lips quivered, though he mastered himself
with an effort. The gladioli and hollyhocks made a brave show amid the
humbler sweet-williams and marigolds, but they would have to be left.
He stopped opposite the rose-bush.

"Ben, lad," he said, "ye'll do me one more favour, willn't ye? Get me
a spade off o' t' cart, will ye? I've left it till t' last minute, for
I can 'ardly bide to root it up, but I munnut leave that tree be'ind."

One of the men had darted off at the mention of the word "spade," and
the beloved implement--the old man's faithful friend--was placed in his
hand.

"Thee an' me's hed monny a grand time together, lad," he said,
apostrophising the spade, "but nivver such a sad job as this afore. A
sad job, aye, a sad job. But we've got to do it, lad, ye an' me."

He put his foot upon it and prepared to dig up the tree, when Barjona
interposed. Every word was clearly heard by the group in the roadway.