rolled his eyes and cast a languishing glance in the
direction of Mrs. Bindle.

"We are temperance," said Mr. Hearty.

"What!" roared Mr. Dixon incredulously. "Temperance! temperance at a
wedding!"

"Always," said Mr. Hearty.

"Hmmmm!" snorted Mr. Dixon. He glared down the length of the table as
if the guests comprised a new species.

Alice repeated her question about the lemonade and lime-juice.

"I should be sick if I drank it," said Mr. Dixon crossly. "I'll have a
cup of tea."

"'E's like me, mum," said Bindle to Mrs. Dixon who was greatly
distressed at the occurrence, "'e likes 'is glass of beer and ain't
none the worse for it."

Mrs. Dixon smiled understandingly.

The meal continued, gloomily silent, or with whispered conversations,
as if the guests were afraid of hearing their own voices.

Bindle turned to Mrs. Hearty. "Look 'ere, Martha!" he cried. "We ain't
a very cheer-o crowd, are we? Ain't you got none of them naughty
stories o' yours to tell jest to make us laugh."

Mrs. Hearty was in the act of conveying a piece of chicken to her
mouth. The chicken and fork dropped back to the plate with a jangle,
and she leaned back in her chair, heaving and wheezing with laughter.

"Look 'ere, sir!" said Bindle, addressing Mr. Sopley, who temporarily
withdrew his eyes from the ceiling. "I 'ad a little argument with a
cove the other day, as to where this 'ere was to be found. I said it's
from the Bible, 'e says it's from _The Pink 'Un_."

Bindle looked round to assure himself that he had attracted the
attention of the whole table.

"Now this is it. 'The Lord said unto Moses come forth, and 'e come
fifth an' lorst the cup.'"

Mrs. Dixon smiled, Millie and Charlie Dixon laughed; but Mr. Dixon
threw himself back in his chair and roared. Mr. Hearty looked
apprehensively at Mr. Sopley, who regarded Bindle with uncomprehending
eyes.

"You've lost your money, Mr. Bindle, you've lost your money; it's _The
Pink 'Un_, I'll bet my life on it," choked Mr. Dixon. "Best thing I've
heard for years, 'pon my soul it is!" he cried.

"Mr. Bindle, I'm afraid you are a very naughty man," said Mrs. Dixon
gently.

"Me, mum?" enquired Bindle with assumed innocence. "Me naughty? That's
jest where you're wrong, mum. When I die, it ain't the things I done
wot I shall be sorry for; but the things wot I ain't done, and as for
'Earty, 'e'll be as sorry for 'imself as Ginger was when 'e got a
little dose o' twins."

"Bindle, r