ery bare room. There was a
narrow bed in one corner, a chair, a window-shelf, on which stood a
basin, and a cupboard in the wall.

Mrs. Eames looked round. "It's been well cleaned out since last boy
went," she said. "Master and me'll look in now and then to see that you
keep it clean. Cupboard's handy, and there's a good flock mattress."
Then she gave him the light, and turned to go.

"Please," said Geoff, meekly, "might I have a piece of bread? I'm rather
hungry." It was long past his usual tea-time.

"To be sure!" she replied. "You've not had your tea? I put it on the hob
for you." And the good woman bustled off again.

Geoff followed her, after depositing his bag in the cupboard. She poured
out the tea into a bowl, and ladled in a good spoonful of brown sugar.
Then she cut a hunch off a great loaf, and put it beside the bowl on the
dresser. Geoff was so hungry and thirsty, that he attacked both tea and
bread, though the former was coarse in flavour, and the latter butterless.
But it was not the quality of the food that brought back again that
dreadful choking in his throat, and made the salt tears drop into the
bowl of tea. It was the thought of tea-time at home--the neat table, and
Vicky's dear, important-looking little face, as she filled his cup, and
put in the exact amount of sugar he liked--that came over him suddenly
with a sort of rush. He felt as if he could not bear it. He swallowed
down the tea with a gulp, and rammed the bread into his pocket. Then,
doing his utmost to look unconcerned, he went up to the farmer.

"Shall I go to bed now, please, sir?" he said, with a little hesitation
at the last word. "I'm--I'm rather tired."

"Go to bed?" repeated Eames. "Yes, I suppose so. You must turn out
early--the milk must be at the station by half-past five."

"How shall I wake?" asked Geoff, timidly.

"Wake? You'll have to learn to wake like others do. However, for the
first, I'll tell Matthew to knock you up."

"Thank you. Good-night, sir."

"Good-night." And the farmer turned again to the newspaper he was
reading.

"You'll find your bed well aired. I made Betsy see to that," called out
Mrs. Eames.

"Thank you," said Geoff again, more heartily this time. But he overheard
Eames grumbling at his wife as he left the room, telling her "he'd have
none of that there coddling of the lad."

"And you'd have him laid up with rheumatics--dying of a chill? That'd be
a nice finish up to it all. You know quite