the thick
moustache the likeness was too strong to admit of doubt.

I went into the studio and brought out the copy of Farmer Brown's
portrait which I had retained, and placed it on the chest of drawers
where he could hardly fail to see it; but I said nothing to Mother
Hubbard, who was laying the cloth for tea. The kettle was boiling when
he came in, and I fetched a third cup and saucer and invited him to the
table.

I could see that reluctance struggled with desire, but Mother Hubbard's
added entreaties turned the scale, and he removed his soaking overcoat
with many apologies for the trouble he was causing.

He drank his tea, but appeared to have little appetite for the crisp
buttered toast which Mother Hubbard pressed upon him, and he took a
rather absent part in the desultory conversation which accompanied the
meal. I did not think it right to reveal the curiosity I felt, but
after a while he made an opening.

"I only heard of Farmer Brown's death as I entered the village," he
said. "I met a boy, of whom I inquired, and he told me the farmer was
buried here in the beginning of the year."

Mother Hubbard put on her glasses and looked at him with a new
interest, and removed them again in a minute or two as if satisfied.

"He died early in January," I said; "did you know him?"

"Yes," he said, and there was no sign of emotion in his voice or face;
"but I have not seen him for several years. He had a wife and
daughter; are they living, and still at the old place? I forgot to ask
the boy."

I thought it curious that he should have overlooked so natural a
question, if, as seemed likely, he had come to the neighbourhood with
the intention of finding them; but after all, the explanation lay upon
the surface--he manifestly did not wish to arouse too much curiosity.

"Yes, they are still at the farm, and both are well," I replied; "I
often see them. If you knew the farmer you will perhaps recognise his
photograph. It was taken only a little while before he died."

I got up and handed it to him, and I saw his mouth twitch at the
corners as he took the card in his hand. All the same he examined it
critically, and his voice was still firm as he replied:

"He had evidently aged a good deal since I knew him, but I am sure it
was a good likeness."

"It was trouble that aged him, Joe," broke in Mother Hubbard's gentle
voice; "the good Lord overrules all things for good, but it was you who
brought his grey hair