e hearth; and Mrs. Nettley was just, with some
trouble, hanging a large round griddle over the blazing fire.
Her brother stood by, with his hands on his sides, and a
rather complacent face.

"What's that flap-jack going on for?"

"For something I like, if you don't," said his sister. "George
--"

Mrs Nettley stopped while her iron ladle was carefully
bestowing large spoonfuls of batter all round the griddle.

"What?" said Mr. Inchbald, when it was done.

"Somebody up-stairs likes 'em. Don't you suppose you could get
Mr. Landholm to come down. He likes 'em, and he don't get 'em
now-a-days -- nor too much of anything that's good. I don't
know what he _does_ live on, up there."

"Anything is better than those things," said her brother.

"Other people are more wise than you. Do go up and ask him,
will you, George? I hope he gets good dinners somewhere, for
it's very little of anything he cooks at that smoky little
fireplace of his. Do you ever see him bring anything in?"

"Nothing. I don't see him bring himself in, you know. But
he'll do. He'll have enough by and by, Dame Nettley. I know
what stuff he's of."

"Yes, but no stuff'll last without help," said Mrs. Nettley,
taking her cakes off the griddle and piling them up carefully.
"Now I'm all ready, George, and you're standing there -- it's
always the way -- and before you can mount those three pair of
stairs and down again, these'll be cold. Do go, George; Mr.
Landholm likes his cakes hot -- I'll have another plateful
ready before you'll be here; and then they're good for nothing
but to throw away."

"That's what I think," said Mr. Inchbald; "but I'll bring him
down if I can, to do what you like with 'em -- only I must see
first what this knocking wants at the front door."

"And left this one open too!" -- said Mrs. Nettley, -- "and now
the whole house'll be full of smoke and everything -- Well! -- I
might as well not ha' put this griddleful on." --

But the door having refused to latch, gave Mrs. Nettley a
chance to hear what was going on. She stood, slice in hand,
listening. Some unaccustomed tones came to her ear -- then Mr.
Inchbald's round hearty voice, saying,

"Yes sir -- he is here -- he is at home."

"I'd like to see him --"

And then the sounds of scraping feet entering the house.

"I'd like to go somewheres that I could see a fire, too," said
the strange voice. "Ben ridin' all night, and got to set off
again, you see, directly."

And M