uite right. Mind you, Jim, any time if you are
pushed with him, there's always a bed and meal with me. I've more than
enough for myself."

That was Jim's opportunity, and he took it.

"You're a good sort, Tom," he said, "I'll not forget. How--how--" he
hesitated. "Have you seen Pattie since?"

"Yes," said Tom sadly, "I've seen her."

There was a finality in his answer that Jim did not like to break, and
they walked on in silence till Tom spoke again.

"I saw her," he said, "when she didn't see me, and I thought she
looked tired-like. She was with some girl, a loud-voiced, gay-looking
sort of girl, who must have known me, though I don't know her; and
when she saw me, she whispered to Pattie and laughed, and Pattie
tossed her head and laughed out loud, as I never heard her laugh
before, and she went red, but she never turned her head nor looked,
not even when she got to the corner, for I stood and watched. I
couldn't turn my back and leave her. I _had_ to look while she was in
sight."

"Is there--is there any----?" Jim stopped.

"Is there anybody else?" said Tom in a strangled kind of voice. "They
say so. The butcher's man, in that big shop by the Station Hotel.
He looks smart and dresses like any gentleman on a Sunday, but he's
always popping in and out of the hotel, and if you could hear his
language--"

"I shouldn't be too sure of what 'they say'," said Jim, "and as for
her laughing and all that--p'r'aps it was just put on because you were
looking. It made her feel awkward-like. If she hadn't cared a bit,
she'd have gone on without turning a hair."

Tom sighed.

"I'd wait a bit and take no heed of what folks say about her," went
on Jim, "and then if you find you keep on caring, just up and ask her
again. You've as much right as any other man. When she gets to know
this fellow better, she'll know what she's missed."

Tom smiled faintly and the shadow in his eyes lightened a little at
Jim's hopefulness.

"If Jane was to meet her and have words, I don't know what I should
do," he said. "It would be best not to remind her of Pattie at all."

"Not me!" answered Jim emphatically.

CHAPTER X.

A MEAN THING.

There was no need to remind Jane of the offending Pattie in words.
Tom's face had done that already, and she was meditating vengeance.
She and Jim and the baby reached their own home at midnight on Easter
Monday, and by nine o'clock on the Tuesday morning she was at the
weekly washtub which