re
seemed to be little flesh between the dry skin and the bones which
sharply outlined his visage. The lips were, like those of his son,
prominent and nervous, but none of Bob's shrewdness was here
discoverable; feeling rather than intellect appeared to be the father's
characteristic. His eyes expressed self-will, perhaps obstinacy, and he
had a peculiarly dogged manner of holding his head. At the present
moment he was suffering from extreme fatigue; he let himself sink upon
a chair, threw his hat on to the floor, and rested a hand on each knee.
His boots were thickly covered with mud; his corduroy trousers were
splashed with the same. Rain had drenched him; it trickled to the floor
from all his garments.

For answer to Sidney's question, he nodded towards his wife, and said
in a thick voice, 'Ask her.'

'He's dyed it,' Mrs. Hewett explained, with no smile. 'He thought one
of the reasons why he couldn't get work was his lookin' too old.'

'An' so it was,' exclaimed Hewett, with an angry vehemence which at
once declared his position and revealed much of his history. 'So it was
My hair was a bit turned, an' nowadays there's no chance for old men.
Ask any one you like. Why, there's Sam Lang couldn't even get a job at
gardenin' 'cause his hair was a bit turned. It was him as told me what
to do. "Dye your hair, Jack," he says; "it's what I've had to myself,"
he says. "They won't have old men nowadays, at no price." Why, there's
Jarvey the painter; you know him, Sidney. His guvnor sent him on a job
to Jones's place, an' they sent him back. "Why, he's an old man," they
says. "What good's a man of that age for liftin' ladders about?" An'
Jarvey's no older than me.'

Sidney knitted his brows. He had heard the complaint from too many men
to be able to dispute its justice.

'When there's twice too many of us for the work that's to be done,'
pursued John, 'what else can you expect? The old uns have to give way,
of course. Let 'em beg; let 'em starve! What use are they?'

Mrs. Hewett had put a kettle on the fire, and began to arrange the
table for a meal.

'Go an' get your wet things off, John,' she said. 'You'll be havin'
your rheumatics again.'

'Never mind me, Maggie. What business have you to be up an' about? You
need a good deal more takin' care of than I do. Here, let Amy get the
tea.'

The three children, Amy, Annie, and Tom, had come forward, as only
children do who are wont to be treated affectionately on their