nd he told me about it, just as he ought to a'done,
and I had to tell him plain that it wasn't a bit of use. For one thing
Minnie was too young, and what's more, she hadn't even given half a
thought to him in _that_ way; and I wouldn't have the child worried
about such things, because, as you know, she's delicate, and it doesn't
take much to upset her in her mind, and then she can't sleep at nights.
So I told Mr. Gammon plain and straight, and he took it in the right
spirit, but he hasn't been here since. And I'm as sure as anything that
Polly's letter is a nasty, mean bit of falsehood, though I'm sorry to
have to say it to you, Ebenezer."

Mr. Sparkes had the beginning of a cold in the head, which did not tend
to make him cheerful. Sitting by the fireside, very upright in his
decent suit of Sunday black, he looked more than ever like a clergyman,
perchance a curate who is growing old without hope of a benefice.
Fortunately there entered about tea-time a young man in much better
spirits, evidently a welcome friend of Mrs. Clover's; his name was
Nelson. On his arrival Minnie joined the company, and it would have
been remarked by anyone with an interest in the affairs of the family
that Mrs. Clover was not at all reluctant to see her daughter and this
young man amiably conversing. Mr. Nelson had something not unlike the
carriage and tone of a gentleman; he talked quietly, though
light-heartedly, and from remarks he let fall it appeared that he was
somehow connected with the decorative arts. Minnie and he dropped into
a discussion of some new ceramic design put forth by Doulton's; they
seemed to understand each other, and grew more animated as they
exchanged opinions. The hostess, meanwhile, kept glancing at them with
a smile of benevolence.

At the tea table Mr. Nelson gratified Mr. Sparkes by an allusion to
almost the only topic--apart from Chaffey's--which could draw that
grave man into continuous speech. Mr. Sparkes had but one recreation,
that of angling; for many years he had devoted such hours of summer
leisure as Chaffey's granted him to piscatory excursions, were it only
as far as the Welsh Harp. Finding this young man disposed to lend a
respectful ear, and to venture intelligent questions, he was presently
discoursing at large.

"Chub? Why chub's a kind of carp, don't you see. There's no fish pulls
harder than a chub, not in the ordinary way of fishing. A chub he'll
pull just like a little pig; he will indeed,