p with a cart."

Frances Freeland compressed her lips. "With that leg you should have
come by train."

The old man smiled.

"I hadn't the fare like," he said. "I only gets five shillin's a week,
from the council, and two o' that I pays over to my son."

Frances Freeland thrust her hand once more into that deep pocket, and as
she did so she noticed that the old man's left boot was flapping open,
and that there were two buttons off his coat. Her mind was swiftly
calculating: "It is more than seven weeks to quarter day. Of course I
can't afford it, but I must just give him a sovereign."

She withdrew her hand from the recesses of her pocket and looked at the
old man's nose. It was finely chiselled, and the same yellow as his
face. "It looks nice, and quite sober," she thought. In her hand was
her purse and a boot-lace. She took out a sovereign.

"Now, if I give you this," she said, "you must promise me not to spend
any of it in the public-house. And this is for your boot. And you must
go back by train. And get those buttons sewn on your coat. And tell
cook, from me, please, to give you some tea and an egg." And noticing
that he took the sovereign and the boot-lace very respectfully, and
seemed altogether very respectable, and not at all coarse or
beery-looking, she said:

"Good-by; don't forget to rub what I gave you into your leg every night
and every morning," and went back to her camp-stool. Sitting down on it
with the scissors in her hand, she still did not cut out that recipe, but
remained as before, taking in small, definite things, and feeling with an
inner trembling that dear Felix and Alan and Nedda would soon be here;
and the little flush rose again in her cheeks, and again her lips and
hands moved, expressing and compressing what was in her heart. And close
behind her, a peacock, straying from the foundations of the old Moreton
house, uttered a cry, and moved slowly, spreading its tail under the
low-hanging boughs of the copper-beeches, as though it knew those dark
burnished leaves were the proper setting for its 'parlant' magnificence.

CHAPTER V

The day after the little conference at John's, Felix had indeed received
the following note:

"DEAR FELIX:

"When you go down to see old Tod, why not put up with us at Becket? Any
time will suit, and the car can take you over to Joyfields when you like.
Give the pen a rest. Clara joins in hoping you'll come, and Mother is
still here.