d
not even try to gain an idea on the subject.

"Mother," said Emily, "does Aunt Mary live in London? And Albert and
Juliet and Florry and Neddy--and--and all the others."

"Yes, poor things! they live in London."

"And they don't like hot days in London?"

"Hot days must be better than cold ones. I say, Rowles," and his wife
turned to him and spoke in a gentler tone, "do you know I have been
thinking so much lately about Mary and all of them. It is a long time
since we had a letter. I wonder if it is all right with them."

"As right as usual, I'll be bound," said Rowles gruffly.

"I've a sort of feeling on me," Mrs. Rowles pursued, "that they are
not doing well. The saying is, that no news is good news; but I'm not
so sure of that--not always."

"Mary went her own way," said the lock-keeper, "and if it turns out
the wrong way it is no business of mine. When a woman marries a fine,
stuck-up London printer, who works all night on a morning paper and
sleeps half the day, what can you expect? Can you expect good health,
or good temper, or good looks from a man who turns night into day and
day into night?"

"Children, run and give these crumbs and some barley to the chickens.
Now, Rowles, you know very well that I never did join you in your
dislike to Thomas Mitchell. Printing was his trade, and there must be
morning papers I suppose, and I daresay he'd like to work by day and
sleep by night if he could. I think your sister Mary made a mistake
when she married a Londoner, after being used to the country where you
_can_ draw a breath of fresh air. And I'm afraid that Tom's money
can't be any too much for eight children living, and two put away in
the cemetery, pretty dears! And I was just thinking to myself that it
would seem friendly-like if I was to journey up to London and see how
they are getting on. It is less trouble than writing a letter."

"It costs more," said Rowles.

A long, distant whistle was heard.

"There they come!" and Rowles rose from his chair, and took his burly
figure out into the garden-plot which lay between the cottage and the
lock.

Mrs. Rowles followed him, saying, "There is a train at 10.22; and if I
leave the dinner all ready you can boil the potatoes for yourself."

"What do you want to go for, at all? Women are always gadding about,
just to show off their bonnets, or to look at other people's. Here
they come--two of them!" he added.

For two steam launches, whistling horribly,