so
little of me; I know it is.'

'I don't believe it! She's a good-hearted girl--'

A heavy footstep on the stairs checked him. The door was thrown open,
and there entered a youth of nineteen, clad as an artisan. He was a
shapely fellow, though not quite so stout as perfect health would have
made him, and had a face of singular attractiveness,
clear-complexioned, delicate featured, a-gleam with intelligence. The
intelligence was perhaps even too pronounced; seen in profile, the
countenance had an excessive eagerness; there was selfish force about
the lips, moreover, which would have been better away. His noisy
entrance indicated an impulsive character, and the nod with which he
greeted Kirkwood was self-sufficient.

'Where's that medal I cast last night, mother?' he asked, searching in
various corners of the room and throwing things about.

'Now, do mind what you're up to, Bob!' remonstrated Mrs. Hewett.
'You'll find it on the mantel in the other room. Don't make such a
noise.'

The young man rushed forth, and in a moment returned. In his hand,
which was very black, and shone as if from the manipulation of metals,
he held a small bright medal. He showed it to Sidney, saying, 'What
d'you think o' that?'

The work was delicate and of clever design; it represented a racehorse
at full speed, a jockey rising in the stirrups and beating it with
orthodox brutality.

'That's "Tally-ho" at the Epsom Spring Meetin',' he said. 'I've got
money on him!'

And, with another indifferent nod, he flung out of the room.

Before Mrs. Hewett and Kirkwood could renew their conversation, there
was another step at the door, and the father of the family presented
himself.

CHAPTER III

A SUPERFLUOUS FAMILY

Kirkwood's face, as he turned to greet the new-comer, changed suddenly
to an expression of surprise.

'Why, what have you been doing to your hair?' he asked abruptly.

A stranger would have seen nothing remarkable in John Hewett's hair,
unless he had reflected that, being so sparse, it had preserved its
dark hue and its gloss somewhat unusually. The short beard and whiskers
were also of richer colour than comported with the rest of the man's
appearance. Judging from his features alone, one would have taken John
for sixty at least; his years were in truth not quite two-and-fifty. He
had the look of one worn out with anxiety and hardship; the lines
engraven upon his face were of extraordinary depth and frequency; the