anywhere. We've
been married over thirty years. Thirty years of sunshine and shadow
together. You're a single man, and don't understand these things."

"P'r'aps you're right," said his friend. "But it'll be a bit of a shock
to her, anyway. What do you say to me stepping round and breaking the
news to her? It's a bit sudden, you know. She's expecting a white-
haired old gentleman, not a black-haired boy."

Mr. Simpson looked a bit uneasy. "P'r'aps I ought to have told her
first," he murmured, craning his neck to look in the glass at the back
of the bar.

"I'll go and put it right for you," said his friend. "You stay here and
smoke your pipe."

He stepped out briskly, but his pace slackened as he drew near the
house.

"I--I--came--to see you about your husband," he faltered, as Mrs.
Simpson opened the door and stood regarding him.

"What's the matter?" she exclaimed, with a faint cry. "What's happened
to him?"

"Nothing," said Mr. Mills, hastily. "Nothing serious, that is. I just
came round to warn you so that you will be able to know it's him."

Mrs. Simpson let off a shriek that set his ears tingling. Then,
steadying herself by the wall, she tottered into the front room,
followed by the discomfited Mr. Mills, and sank into a chair.

"He's dead!" she sobbed. "He's dead!"

"He is not," said Mr. Mills.

"Is he much hurt? Is he dying?" gasped Mrs. Simpson.

"Only his hair," said Mr. Mills, clutching at the opening. "He is not
hurt at all."

Mrs. Simpson dabbed at her eyes-and sat regarding him in bewilderment.
Her twin chins were still quivering with emotion, but her eyes were
beginning to harden. "What are you talking about?" she inquired, in a
raspy voice.

"He's been to a hairdresser's," said Mr. Mills. "He's 'ad all his white
whiskers cut off, and his hair cut short and dyed black. And, what with
that and his new teeth, I thought--he thought--p'r'aps you mightn't know
him when he came home."

"Dyed?" cried Mrs. Simpson, starting to her feet.

Mr. Mills nodded. "He looks twenty years younger," he said, with a
smile. "He'd pass for his own son anywhere."

Mrs. Simpson's eyes snapped. "Perhaps he'd pass for my son," she
remarked.

"Yes, easy," said the tactful Mr. Mills. "You can't think what a
difference it's made to him. That's why I came to see you--so you
shouldn't be startled."

"Thank you," said Mrs. Simpson. "I'm much obliged. But you might have
spared yourse