t smart only yesterday," Ellen gasped, "and I wasn't
going out of doors in these stockings."

"It is just as bad to wear them indoors or outdoors, whether any one
sees them or whether any one does not," Burton insisted. "Your own
sense of self-respect should tell you that. Did you happen, by the bye,
to glance at the boy's collar when you put it on?"

"What, little Alf now?" his mother faltered. "You're getting on to him
now, are you?"

"I certainly should wish," Burton protested mildly, "that he was more
suitably dressed. A plain sailor-suit, or a tweed knickerbocker suit
with a flannel collar, would be better than those velveteen things with
that lace abomination. And why is he tugging at your skirt so?"

"He is ready to start," Ellen replied sharply. "Haven't forgotten
you're taking us to the band, have you?"

"I had forgotten it," Burton admitted, "but I am quite willing to go."

Ellen turned towards the stairs.

"Down in five minutes," she announced. "I hope you've finished all that
rubbishing talk. There's some tea in the tea-pot on the hob, if you
want any. Don't upset things."

Burton drifted mechanically into the kitchen, noting its disorder with a
new disapproval. He sat on the edge of the table for a few moments,
gazing helplessly about him. Presently Ellen descended the stairs and
called to him. He took up his hat and followed his wife and the boy out
of the house. The latter eyed him wonderingly.

"Look at pa's hat!" he shouted. "Oh, my!"

Ellen stopped short upon her way to the gate.

"Alfred," she exclaimed, "you don't mean to say you're coming out with
us like that--coming to the band, too, where we shall meet everyone?"

"Certainly, my dear," Burton replied, placing the object of their
remarks fearlessly upon his head. "You may not be quite used to it yet,
but I can assure you that it is far more becoming and suitable than a
cheap silk hat, especially for an occasion like the present."

Ellen opened her mouth and closed it again--it was perhaps wise!

"Come on," she said abruptly. "Alfred wants to hear the soldier music
and we are late already. Take your father's hand."

They started upon their pilgrimage. Burton, at any rate, spent a
miserable two hours. He hated the stiff, brand-new public garden in
which they walked, with its stunted trees, its burnt grass, its
artificial and weary flower-beds. He hated the people who stood about
as they did, listening to the band,--the giggling girl