me at intervals; always dwelling on her
Australian experiences, never on her girlhood--never on her subsequent
life in England. The reason of this is not clear; one has to accept the
fact. The point to notice is that nothing she said could possibly
associate her with old Mrs. Marrable, as told about by Dave. There had
been mention of Australia certainly. Yet why should Granny Marrable's
sister having died there forty-odd years ago connect her with an old
woman of a different name, now living? Besides, Dave was not
intelligible on this point.

Whatever she told to Aunt M'riar was repeated to Uncle Mo--be sure of
that! Still, fragmentary stories, unless dressed up and garnished by
their retailer, do not remain vividly in the mind of their hearer, and
Uncle Mo's impressions of the upstairs tenant's history continued very
mixed. For Aunt M'riar's style was unpolished, and she did not marshall
her ideas in an impressive or lucid manner.

CHAPTER IX

OF A WATERSIDE PUBLIC-HOUSE, AT CHISWICK, AND TWO MEN IN ITS BACK
GARDEN. HOW THE RIVER POLICE TOOK AN INTEREST IN THEM. A
TROUBLESOME LANDING AND A BAD SPILL. HOW FOUR MEN WENT UNDER WATER,
AND TWO WERE NOT DROWNED. OF THE INQUEST ONE OF THE OTHERS TOOK THE
STAR PART IN. A MODEL WITNESS, AND HIS GREAT-AUNT

Just off the Lower Mall at Hammersmith there still remains a scrap of
the waterside neighbourhood that, fifty years ago, believed itself
eternal; that still clung to the belief forty years ago; that had
misgivings thirty years ago; and that has suffered such inroads from
eligible residences, during the last quarter of a century, that its
residuum, in spite of a superficial appearance of duration, is really
only awaiting the expiration of leases to be given over to
housebreakers, to make way for flats.

Fifty years ago this corner of the world was so self-reliant that it was
content--more than content--to be unpatrolled by police; in fact, felt
rather resentful when an occasional officer passed through, as was
inevitable from time to time. It would have been happier if its
law-abiding tendencies had always been taken for granted. Then you could
have drunk your half a pint, your quart, or your measurable fraction of
a hogshead, in peace and quiet at the bar of the microscopic pub called
The Pigeons, without fear of one of those enemies of Society--_your_
Society--coming spying and prying round after you or any chance
acquaintance you might