nce
like that of expectation in an old heart. Jack Meredith felt vaguely
that he had been expected thus, daily for many months past.

He was shown into the library, and the tall form standing there on
the hearthrug had not the outline for which he had looked. The battle
between old age and a stubborn will is long. But old age wins. It never
raises the siege. It starves the garrison out. Sir John Meredith's head
seemed to have shrunk. The wig did not fit at the back. His clothes,
always bearing the suggestion of emptiness, seemed to hang on
ancient-given lines as if the creases were well established. The clothes
were old. The fateful doctrine of not-worth-while had set in.

Father and son shook hands, and Sir John walked feebly to the
stiff-backed chair, where he sat down in shamefaced silence. He was
ashamed of his infirmities. His was the instinct of the dog that goes
away into some hidden corner to die.

"I am glad to see you," he said, using his two hands to push himself
further back in his chair.

There was a little pause. The fire was getting low. It fell together
with a feeble, crumbling sound.

"Shall I put some coals on?" asked Jack.

A simple question--if you will. But it was asked by the son in such a
tone of quiet, filial submission, that a whole volume could not contain
all that it said to the old man's proud, unbending heart.

"Yes, my boy, do."

And the last six years were wiped away like evil writing from a slate.

There was no explanation. These two men were not of those who explain
themselves, and in the warmth of explanation say things which they do
not fully mean. The opinions that each had held during the years they
had left behind had perhaps been modified on both sides, but neither
sought details of the modification. They knew each other now, and each
respected the indomitable will of the other.

They inquired after each other's health. They spoke of events of a
common interest. Trifles of everyday occurrence seemed to contain
absorbing details. But it is the everyday occurrence that makes the
life. It was the putting on of the coals that reconciled these two men.

"Let me see," said John, "you gave up your rooms before you left
England, did you not?"

"Yes."

Jack drew forward his chair and put his feet out towards the fire. It
was marvellous how thoroughly at home he seemed to be.

"Then," continued Sir John, "where is your luggage?"

"I left it at the club."

"Send along for