"Don't be silly," said Peter. "You didn't understand. Of course I'm
going to give you a trial. You're going to 'do' for me. I merely meant
that we'd leave the details till to-morrow. Come, housekeepers don't
cry."

The little wet face looked up.

"You mean it? Honour bright?"

"Honour bright. Now go and wash yourself. Then you shall get me my
supper."

The odd figure, still heaving from its paroxysm of sobs, stood up.

"And I have my grub, my lodging, and sixpence a week?"

"Yes, yes; I think that's a fair arrangement," agreed Mr. Peter Hope,
considering. "Don't you, Mrs. Postwhistle?"

"With a frock--or a suit of trousers--thrown in," suggested Mrs.
Postwhistle. "It's generally done."

"If it's the custom, certainly," agreed Mr. Peter Hope. "Sixpence a week
and clothes."

And this time it was Peter that, in company with Elizabeth, sat waiting
the return of Tommy.

"I rather hope," said Peter, "it's a boy. It was the fogs, you know. If
only I could have afforded to send him away!"

Elizabeth looked thoughtful. The door opened.

"Ah! that's better, much better," said Mr. Peter Hope. "'Pon my word,
you look quite respectable."

By the practical Mrs. Postwhistle a working agreement, benefiting both
parties, had been arrived at with the long-trained skirt; while an ample
shawl arranged with judgment disguised the nakedness that lay below.
Peter, a fastidious gentleman, observed with satisfaction that the hands,
now clean, had been well cared for.

"Give me that cap," said Peter. He threw it in the glowing fire. It
burned brightly, diffusing strange odours.

"There's a travelling cap of mine hanging up in the passage. You can
wear that for the present. Take this half-sovereign and get me some cold
meat and beer for supper. You'll find everything else you want in that
sideboard or else in the kitchen. Don't ask me a hundred questions, and
don't make a noise," and Peter went back to his work.

"Good idea, that half-sovereign," said Peter. "Shan't be bothered with
'Master Tommy' any more, don't expect. Starting a nursery at our time of
life. Madness." Peter's pen scratched and spluttered. Elizabeth kept
an eye upon the door.

"Quarter of an hour," said Peter, looking at his watch. "Told you so."
The article on which Peter was now engaged appeared to be of a worrying
nature.

"Then why," said Peter, "why did he refuse that shilling? Artfulness,"
concluded Peter, "pure artfulnes