air which he had so praised, he entered the shop
where he was wont to make his modest purchases. A fat woman behind the
counter nodded familiarly to him, with a grin at another customer. Mr.
Tymperley bowed, as was his courteous habit.

'Oblige me,' he said, 'with one new-laid egg, and a small, crisp lettuce.'

'Only one to-night, eh?' said the woman.

'Thank you, only one,' he replied, as if speaking in a drawing-room.
'Forgive me if I express a hope that it will be, in the strict sense of the
word, new-laid. The last, I fancy, had got into that box by some
oversight--pardonable in the press of business.'

'They're always the same,' said the fat shopkeeper. 'We don't make no
mistakes of that kind.'

'Ah! Forgive me! Perhaps I imagined--'

Egg and lettuce were carefully deposited in a little handbag he carried,
and he returned home. An hour later, when his meal was finished, and he sat
on a straight-backed chair meditating in the twilight, a rap sounded at his
door, and a letter was handed to him. So rarely did a letter arrive for Mr.
Tymperley that his hand shook as he examined the envelope. On opening it,
the first thing he saw was a cheque. This excited him still more; he
unfolded the written sheet with agitation. It came from Mrs. Weare, who
wrote thus:--

'MY DEAR MR. TYMPERLEY,--After our talk last evening, I could not help
thinking of you and your beautiful life of self-sacrifice. I
contrasted the lot of these poor people with my own, which, one cannot
but feel, is so undeservedly blest and so rich in enjoyments. As a
result of these thoughts, I feel impelled to send you a little
contribution to your good work--a sort of thank-offering at the moment
of setting off for a happy holiday. Divide the money, please, among
two or three of your most deserving pensioners; or, if you see fit,
give it all to one. I cling to the hope that we may see you at
Lucerne.--With very kind regards.

The cheque was for five pounds. Mr. Tymperley held it up by the window, and
gazed at it. By his present standards of value five pounds seemed a very
large sum. Think of what one could do with it! His boots--which had been
twice repaired--would not decently serve him much longer. His trousers were
in the last stage of presentability. The hat he wore (how carefully
tended!) was the same in which he had come to London three years ago. He
stood in need, verily, of a new equipment from head to fo