s the son--him as was killed in the war--had married somewhere in
furrin parts, and his father was terrible set against it, havin' a wife
of his own choosin' ready for him at home. A regular family quarrel it
was, and both too proud to make it up; but they said the old man was
nigh heartbroken when his son was taken, and he'd never sent him a kind
word. I had it all from Peter Binks's nephew, who was under-gardener
there at the time."

"It might be," said Mr. Jackson oracularly, taking a pinch of snuff as
he spoke, "and, on the other hand, it might not be. Stewart's by no
means an uncommon kind of a name. There was a Stewart second mate on the
_Arizona_ when we took kippers over to Belfast, and there was a chap
called Stewart as used to keep a snug little public down by the quay in
Whitecastle, but I never heard tell as either of 'em was any connection
of old Mr. Stewart up at the Chase."

"It weren't likely they should be," replied Mrs. Jackson, with scorn.
"But that don't make it any less likely in this case. I remember Mr.
Godfrey quite well when we lived at Linkhead, and I'd used to walk over
with Emma Jane to Heatherton Church of a Sunday afternoon. A fine
handsome young fellow he was, too, sittin' with his father in the family
pew, takin' a yawn behind his hand durin' the sermon, and small blame to
him too--old Canon Martindale used to preach that long! I can see him
now, if I close my eyes, with his light hair shinin' against the red
curtain of the big square pew. Little missy has quite a look of him, to
my mind."

"You're always imaginin' romances, Eliza," said Mr. Jackson. "It comes
of too much readin'. You and Polly sit over them stories in _The Family
Herald_ till you make up goodness knows what tales about every new party
as comes to the house. There was the young man with the long hair as
played the fiddle, whom you was sure was a furrin count, and who only
turned out to be one of the band at Ferndale, and went off without
payin' his bill; and there was a couple in the drawing-room as talked
that grand about their motor car and their shootin' box and important
business till you thought it was a member of Parliament and his lady,
takin' a rest and travellin' incog., till you found out they was only
wine merchants from Whitecastle after all. Don't you go a-meddlin'. Let
them manage their own affairs, and we'll manage ours."

"How you talk!" declared Mrs. Jackson indignantly. "Who wants to
meddle? As if on