e don't grudge a little thing like that!"

The lame woman hobbled from her post of rest, and began to make the
bed with the frown that always accompanied a task which strained the
contracted muscles of her leg. "If you don't help your neighbour, your
neighbour don't help you," she said sententiously.

Creed fixed his iron-rimmed gaze on her in silence. He was considering
perhaps how he stood with regard to Hughs in the light of that remark.

"I attended of his baby's funeral," he said. "Oh dear, he's here
a'ready!"

The family of Hughs, indeed, stood in the doorway. The spiritual process
by which "Westminister" had gone through life was displayed completely
in the next few seconds. 'It's so important for me to keep alive and
well,' his eyes seemed saying. 'I know the class of man you are, but now
you're here it's not a bit o' use my bein' frightened. I'm bound to get
up-sides with you. Ho! yes; keep yourself to yourself, and don't you let
me hev any o' your nonsense, 'cause I won't stand it. Oh dear, no!'

Beads of perspiration stood thick on his patchily coloured forehead;
with lips stiffening, and intently staring eyes, he waited for what the
released prisoner would say.

Hughs, whose face had blanched in the prison to a sallow grey-white
hue, and whose black eyes seemed to have sunk back into his head, slowly
looked the old man up and down. At last he took his cap off, showing his
cropped hair.

"You got me that, daddy," he said, "but I don't bear you malice. Come up
and have a cup o' tea with us."

And, turning on his heel, he began to mount the stairs, followed by his
wife and child. Breathing hard, the old butler mounted too.

In the room on the second floor, where the baby no longer lived, a
haddock on the table was endeavouring to be fresh; round it were slices
of bread on plates, a piece of butter in a pie-dish, a teapot, brown
sugar in a basin, and, side by side a little jug of cold blue milk and
a half-empty bottle of red vinegar. Close to one plate a bunch of stocks
and gilly flowers reposed on the dirty tablecloth, as though dropped
and forgotten by the God of Love. Their faint perfume stole through the
other odours. The old butler fixed his eyes on it.

'The poor woman bought that,' he thought, 'hopin' for to remind him of
old days. "She had them flowers on her weddin'-day, I shouldn't wonder!"
This poetical conception surprising him, he turned towards the little
boy, and said "This 'll be a mem