ances Fleeming Freeland (nee Morton) waiting for the arrival of
her son Felix and her grandchildren Alan and Nedda.

She marked presently an old man limping slowly on a stick toward where
the drive debouched, and thought at once: "He oughtn't to be coming this
way. I expect he doesn't know the way round to the back. Poor man, he's
very lame. He looks respectable, too." She got up and went toward
him, remarking that his face with nice gray moustaches was wonderfully
regular, almost like a gentleman's, and that he touched his dusty hat
with quite old-fashioned courtesy. And smiling--her smile was sweet
but critical--she said: "You'll find the best way is to go back to that
little path, and past the greenhouses. Have you hurt your leg?"

"My leg's been like that, m'm, fifteen year come Michaelmas."

"How did it happen?"

"Ploughin'. The bone was injured; an' now they say the muscle's dried up
in a manner of speakin'."

"What do you do for it? The very best thing is this."

From the recesses of a deep pocket, placed where no one else wore such a
thing, she brought out a little pot.

"You must let me give it you. Put it on when you go to bed, and rub it
well in; you'll find it act splendidly."

The old man took the little pot with dubious reverence.

"Yes, m'm," he said; "thank you, m'm."

"What is your name?"

"Gaunt."

"And where do you live?"

"Over to Joyfields, m'm."

"Joyfields--another of my sons lives there--Mr. Morton Freeland. But
it's seven miles."

"I got a lift half-way."

"And have you business at the house?" The old man was silent; the
downcast, rather cynical look of his lined face deepened. And Frances
Freeland thought: 'He's overtired. They must give him some tea and
an egg. What can he want, coming all this way? He's evidently not a
beggar.'

The old man who was not a beggar spoke suddenly:

"I know the Mr. Freeland at Joyfields. He's a good gentleman, too."

"Yes, he is. I wonder I don't know you."

"I'm not much about, owin' to my leg. It's my grand-daughter in service
here, I come to see."

"Oh, yes! What is her name?"

"Gaunt her name is."

"I shouldn't know her by her surname."

"Alice."

"Ah! in the kitchen; a nice, pretty girl. I hope you're not in trouble."

Again the old man was silent, and again spoke suddenly:

"That's as you look at it, m'm," he said. "I've got a matter of a few
words to have with her about the family. Her father he couldn't come, so
I come