undue persistence in
urging his suit.

"Well," he said, pointing to Joy and her companion, "they seem happy
enough. It's odd that little Miss Joy should choose for her friend
that untaking niece of Joe Skinner's. She is very like him--just as
unwholesome-looking and sly too."

"Poor girl! She has a melancholy time of it at home, so Joy tells me.
It is just like her to take pity on one who is not cared for."

"I dare say. She is a little darling, and no mistake!"

"This is early-closing day, and a half-holiday at Joy's school--that is
why we are out pleasuring. We are to have tea on the leads at Mr.
Boyd's. Will you come with us? for we ought to be getting back. I
promised Amelia I would be in at six o'clock, as she wants to go
walking with Mr. Skinner."

"Well, she had better stay at home, that's certain. That fellow is a
rogue, if ever there was one!"

Mrs. Harrison was silent for a moment; then she said quietly, "I have
no reason to love him, for he helped to drive my boy out of the house."

"No doubt he did; and--I hardly like to say what I think--but I believe
he made a plot about that money-box."

"Oh! I have often thought so, and put away the thought as wrong and
wicked."

"We'll speak plain English for once," George Paterson said. "That man
means to marry your sister, and get hold of all she possesses."

"Oh, George! Amelia is close on fifty, and Mr. Skinner can't be much
over thirty."

"That does not matter; the same thing is done every day. Don't we see
great folks setting the example, and ladies of any age marrying young
fellows who want their money? You may depend upon it, Skinner has this
in his little sly eye. Well, I shan't do him any good by abusing him,
nor myself neither; so I'll have done."

"Not a word from Jack," Mrs. Harrison sighed out--"not a word."

"If he is off on a long voyage, as he may be, I never thought you would
have a word. You must wait till Christmas for news."

"Till Christmas! Ah! those were his father's last words--'I'll be back
by Christmas;' and how many Christmases have come and gone since that
day, and never a word--never a sign."

"The dead cannot give either words or signs," George said; and then, as
he saw Patience cover her face with her hands, he was sorry that he had
uttered what was an obvious truth, and added gently--

"If your husband had been alive he would come or write, for he loved
you; and how can any man who loved _you_ forget