ean's niece down to see the shop; it was
possible, but here Susan almost shuddered at the awfulness of the
thought, that he might not have told his wife that he had a brother.

'Mat is as weak as water, with all his cleverness,' she said to herself;
'if he has not told her yet, he will put it off from day to day. There
is nothing easier than procrastination if you once give in to it. Few
people speak the truth like my Tom, bless him!'

Susan would not grieve her husband by hinting at these suspicions,
though they grew stronger as time went on. Mat never brought his wife to
see them; he seldom wrote, unless to tell them of the birth of a child,
and then his letters were brief and unsatisfactory. Tom once wrote and
asked him if he were happy, 'for somehow Susan and I have got into our
heads that things are not quite square,' wrote the simple fellow. 'Do
come and let us have a chat together over our pipes. Prissy is getting
quite a big girl; you would hardly know her now.'

Perhaps Mat was touched by this persistent kindness on his brother's
part, for he answered that letter by return of post.

'One must not expect too much happiness in this crooked old world,' he
wrote; 'but you and Susan are such old-fashioned people. Olive and I
have as much enjoyment of life as ordinary folk. We quarrel sometimes
and make it up again. I was never a very patient mortal--eh, old
chap?--and one's temper does not improve with age.' And then after a
little talk about the children, who had been ill with scarlatina, the
letter wound up by begging the loan of a five-pound note.

Tom did not show this letter to Susan. For the first time in his life he
kept a secret from the wife of his bosom. He put two five-pound notes in
an envelope, and sent them with his love to Olive and the children. A
pang of remorse must have crossed Mat's heart at this fresh act of
kindness; but though he acknowledged the gift with the utmost gratitude,
he neither came nor wrote again for a long time.

Some time after that Tom took an odd notion in his head: he would go up
to London and see Mat and his wife and children; he was just hankering
for a sight of the lad, as he told Susan. To be sure, Mat had never
invited him--never hinted at such a thing in his letters; he could not
be sure of his welcome. Susan tried to dissuade him, but to no purpose;
for once Tom was deaf to his little woman's advice. He left her in
charge of the shop one fine spring morning and st