d'ye do, Mrs. Smith?" The lady had just
entered. "You'll forgive my presumption?"

"Not at all--that is, an old friend like you doesn't presume, Mr.
Barracombe. Have you heard from Charley lately?"

"A word or two. He's coming home to-night. He asked me to meet him
here."

"How vexing! I mean, I wish I had known before; I can tell you what I
couldn't tell a stranger: we've fish for only three. But I am glad the
dear boy will have a few hours at home before he rejoins his ship. It
was very annoying that his leave should be spoilt. I am sure his
captain works him too hard."

"I don't fancy he'll consider his leave spoilt. But don't be concerned
about the fish; he won't be home till eleven."

"My bed-time is ten; I haven't made an exception for years; but I
shall certainly sit up for him; if you'll play cribbage with me to
keep me awake. We dine at eight. You know your room?"

A servant entered.

"Please, m'm, there's a man asking for Mr. Charley."

"Who is he, Betts?"

"A stranger to me, m'm. His name is Barton, and he's a farmer sort of
man."

"Did you tell him that Mr. Charley is not at home?"

"Yes, m'm. He said he'd wait."

"Tell him that Mr. Charley will not be in till eleven. He had better
call again."

The servant returned in a minute or two.

"Please, m'm, the man says he don't mind waiting. He has come miles
special to see Mr. Charley, and he says he won't be put off. He seems
a bit put out, m'm."

"I'll go and see him, Mother," said Kate. "It may be important."

"Perhaps Mr. Barracombe will go with you, my dear. The man may be
intoxicated."

Kate and Mr. Barracombe proceeded to the hall, where stood a man in
rough country garments, his calves encased in brown leather leggins.

"You wish to see my brother?" said Kate.

"I do so, if Mr. Charles Thusidger Smith, R.N., be your brother, miss.
He give me this card wi's name prented on it, and vowed and declared
he'd send me a cheque as soon as he got my bill for the damage he
done. 'Tis a week come Saturday since I sent my bill, and daze me if
I've got a cheque or even had any answer. That's not fair dealing; it
bean't proper; that's what _I_ say."

Mr. Barracombe's eyes twinkled. He glanced at Kate, and said--

"Your name is B-B--"

"Barton, sir; Firtop Farm, Mottisfont."

"What is this b-b-bill for d-d-damages you speak of?"

"Why, sir, 'twas like this. Last Thursday night as was, I was just
a-strippin' off my coat to go to bed when