old pal Jerky Rowe's son I knew from a boy.
Man under forty, as I judge. But he won't let me swaller up _his_ time,
trust him! Tell Jerry I'll jine him at half-after nine, the very
latest."

"I'll acquaint him what you say, Mo. And you bear in mind what Mr.
Jeffcoat at The Sun had to say about yourself, Mo."

"What was it, M'riar? Don't you bottle it up."

"Why, Mr. Jeffcoat he said, after passing the time of day, round in
Clove Street, 'I look to Mr. Wardle to keep up the character of The
Sun,' he said. So you bear in mind, Mo."

Whereupon Uncle Mo departed, and Aunt M'riar was left to her own
reflections, the children being abed and asleep by now; Dolly certainly,
probably Dave.

Presently the door to the street was pushed open, and Mr. Jerry
appeared. "I don't see no Moses?" said he.

Aunt M'riar gave her message, over her shoulder. To justify this she
should have been engaged on some particular task of the needle, easiest
performed when seated. Mr. Alibone, to whom her voice sounded unusual,
looked round to see. He only saw that her hands were in her lap, and no
sign was visible of their employment. This was unlike his experience of
Aunt M'riar. "Find the weather trying, Mrs. Wardle?"

"It don't do me any harm."

"Ah--some feels the heat more than others."

Aunt M'riar roused herself to reply:--"If you're meaning me, Mr.
Alibone, it don't touch me so much as many. Only my bones are not so
young as they were--that's how it came I was sitting down. Now,
supposin' you'd happened in five minutes later, you might have found me
tidin' up. I've plenty to do yet awhile." But this was not convincing,
although the speaker wished to make it so; probably it would have been
better had less effort gone to the utterance of it. For Aunt M'riar's
was too obvious.

Mr. Jerry laughed cheerfully, for consolation. "Come now, Aunt M'riar,"
said he, "_you_ ain't the one to talk as if you was forty, and be making
mention of your bones. Just you let them alone for another fifteen year.
That'll be time." Mr. Jerry had been like one of the family, so
pleasantry of this sort was warranted.

It was not unwelcome to Aunt M'riar. "I'm forty-six, Mr. Jerry," she
said. "And forty-six is six-and-forty."

"And fifty-six is six-and-fifty, which is what I am, this very next
Michaelmas. Now I call that a coincidence, Mrs. Wardle."

Aunt M'riar reflected. "I should have said it was an accident, Mr.
Jerry. Like anythin' else, as the sayi