s for a quiet Sunday
as was imputed to her. Very old people, with hearing at a low ebb, are
often like this. The old lady during the ten days Mr. Bartlett had
contrived to extend his job over--for his contract left all question of
extras open--had become accustomed to the sound of the men outside, and
was sorry when they died away in the distance, after breeding dissension
with poles in the middle distance; that is to say, the Court below. She
had felt alive to the proximity of human creatures; for Mr. Bartlett
and John still came under that designation, though builders by trade. If
it had not been Saturday, with a prospect of Dave and Dolly Wardle when
they had done their dinners, she would have had no alleviation in view,
and would have had to divide the time between knitting and dozing till
Mrs. Burr came in--as she might or might not--and tea eventuated: the
vital moment of her day.

However, this was Saturday, and Dave and Dolly came up in full force as
the afternoon mellowed; and Aunt M'riar accompanied them, and Mrs. Burr
she got back early off her job, and there was fourpennyworth of
crumpets. Only that was three-quarters of an hour later.

But Dave was eloquent about his adventure with the truck, judging the
old lady of over eighty quite a fit and qualified person to sympathize
with the raptures of sitting on a handle, and being jerked violently
into the air by a counterpoise of confederates. And no doubt she was;
but not to the extent imputed to her by Dave, of a great sense of
privation from inability to go through the experience herself.
Nevertheless there was that in his blue eyes, and the disjointed
rapidity of his exposition of his own satisfaction, that could bridge
for her the gulf of two-thirds of a century between the sad old now--the
vanishing time--and the merry _then_ of a growing life, and all the
wonder of the things to be. The dim illumination of her smile spread a
little to her eyes as she made believe to enter into the glorious
details of the exploit; though indeed she was far from clear about many
of them. And as for Dave, no suspicion crossed his mind that the old
lady's professions of regret were feigned. He condemned Aunt M'riar's
attitude, as that of an interloper between two kindred souls.

"There, child, that'll do for about Mr. Bartlett's truct." So the good
woman had said, showing her lack of _geist_--her Philistinism. "Now you
go and play at The Hospital with Dolly, and don't make