ry to make him a cup of tea.'

'Who is he?'

'I don't know his name, but he seems so sympathetic. And he says he
should be so pleased if he might see you again for a few minutes. He
says, too, that you have a good and kind face. I told him that you would
be sure to take at least a dozen of those in cream and gold. There's
nothing at all vulgar; quite the reverse.'

'What _are_ you talking about, Kate? Who is this sodden old lunatic, and
what on earth are you crying for?'

My sister nearly sobbed. 'I always thought that what you derisively
termed "mortuary bards" were horrid people, but this old man has a
beautiful nature. And he's very wet--and hungry too, I'm sure; and Mary
looks at him as if he were a dog. Do try and help him. I think we might
get one or two dozen cream and gold cards, and two dozen black-edged.

And then he's a journalist, too. He's told me quite a sad little story
of his life struggle, and the moment I told him you were on the _Evening
News_ he quite brightened up, and said he knew your name quite well.'

'Kate,' I said, 'I don't want to see the man. What the deuce does he
want? If he is one of those loafing scoundrels of undertakers' and
mortuary masons' touts, just send him about his business; give him a
glass of whisky and tell Mary to clear him out.'

My sister said that to send an old man out in such weather was not like
_me_. Surely I would at least speak a kind word to him.

In sheer desperation I went out to the man. He addressed me in husky
tones, and said that he desired to express his deep sympathy with me in
my affliction, also that he was 'a member of the Fourth Estate.' Seven
years before he had edited the _Barangoora News_, but his determined
opposition to a dishonest Government led to his ruin, and now--

'All right, old man; stow all that. What do you want?'

He looked at me reproachfully, and taking up a small leather bag, said
that he represented Messrs ------, 'Monumental Masons and Memorial Card
Designers and Printers,' and should feel pleased if I would look at his
samples.

He was such a wretched, hungry-looking, down-upon-his-beam-ends old
fellow, that I could not refuse to inspect his wares. And then his boots
filled me with pity. For such a little man he had the biggest boots I
ever saw--baggy, elastic sides, and toes turned up, with the after part
of the uppers sticking out some inches beyond the frayed edges of his
trousers. As he sat down and drew these garme