almost imperceptible shudder concluded the sentence. Decidedly the lissom charm, the piquant freshness, the shining purity of the neat-handed Phyllis was absent from Sally's person, or if latent, very latent indeed.

"When you've done showin' off them boots as if you was the Museum," Mrs. Dawe cried brutally, though her eyes twinkled a little with dim comprehension of her son's satire. "P'raps you wishes you was. I know you'd like to 'ave a p'liceman to look arter ye," she chuckled grimly.

66

"I never !" said Sally, with high-pitched and fiery indignation. "E only come to arx if I'd seen a one-armed man with a tambourine as was wanted for the card-trick, and 'e paid for 'is plum-duff with a kick with a 'ole in it."

Hush, hush," said Jack, who had ceased stirring his coffee in surprise. "You must not excite yourself like that, my good girl. I do not think your mistress was accusing you seriously, so there's really no need to defend yourself so loudly."

The maid-of-all-work stared dumbly at her master; the glittering "Wellingtons" almost fell from her hands. The suavity of the reproof was too much for her perfervid condition.

The intensity of the girl's gaze infected Mrs. Dawe. She bent her sharp, gray eyes upon her son, and a puzzled look came over her broad visage. The sign-painter seemed uneasy under this dual scrutiny. He bent his head over the smoking viands and took up his knife and fork.

Suddenly the old woman's face lit up with an expression of

relief.

66

66

Why, Jack!" she exclaimed.

"Where's your Sunday togs?" Eh," he said, looking up vaguely. "My Sunday togs?" "Bless the boy, ain't to-day Sunday? And you such a swell in your new trousers!"

"Oh!" said Jack.

"This comes o' bein' out late.

You wake up without your wits.

But come, don't let your bacon spoil.

You can change afterwards.

Oh, I forgot. 'Ere's your Referee and your Lloyd's! Let me know if there's any good murders on."

He took the newspapers which his mother handed him and laid them aside with a sigh. She started and turned pale. "Breakfast without politics! Is there anything a matter, Jack?"

"I feel a trifle worried," he replied," and I have no wish to be worried further by the criticisms of the Sunday Press."

Mrs. Dawe stared. Then seeing his lips move she said anxiously: "Why, you're a tremblin' all over."

66

No, no; I am merely saying grace."

The crash which followed this announcement was caused by the rapid decline and fall of Mrs. Dawe's knife and fork. Jack smiled.

"It's disgraceful!" she exclaimed, re-assured, "to give a body such a turn by your jokes. I thought you had one boot in the grave already. As your father used to say, 'when a man is took

religious it's a sign he's took bad.' Rest his soul! he didn't believe in nothing, he didn't, and he'd maintain them principles in this world or the next. He used to say as my services 'd be wanted down below, as I was such a hexcellent frier and roaster, which-not as it's me as says it-there isn't in the kingdom, if modesty will allow me to say it."

"I have noticed," said Jack, "that, as a rule, those only are modest who have something to be modest about.”

"Well, I 'ave got something to be modest about," responded Mrs. Dawe proudly; "and that's why I ses it. I can't do better than believe in the same nothing as my late husband. And as I was a-sayin' to Salvation Polly only yesterday, in my business I don't trust nobody, and in my religion it's the same. And as for sayin' grace, it's all humbug. My customers, ses I, don't say grace, for they know if they get a square meal they've earned it, and no thanks to nobody. When I sees the poor, famishin' young 'uns a flattenin' their noses against my windows, and a smellin' the pork-pies, thinks I to myself it ain't true what your folks says that He gives food to the young ravenous when they cry. They can cry till their eyes is as red as their fathers' noses; and pork-pies'll be as far off as ever." Then she rolled up her sleeves, much to Jack's alarm. "Eat away, my boy, I must get to work now; people's stomachs never takes no rest, Sunday or any other day, does they, Jack? And what did they talk about last night? More politics, I suppose. Ah, Jack, don't eat my 'ead off if I asks ye not to waste so much time on politics-it takes you away from your work. Not that, thank Gord, you can't be idle a day; still politics is only for them as ain't got to get a honest living." Here Mrs. Dawe's features assumed a timid, conciliatory expression, narrowly verging on the apologetic.

"That is very true," said Jack, with a grim smile.

"I'm glad you're a-comin' round to common sense," said his mother, at once surprised and emboldened by the passiveness with which these tentative remarks were received. "Your dear father took as much interest in politics as you; but did he let it ruin him as it well-nigh does you? Not he. He just took his sovereign whenever there was an election on and marked the paper according, doing a good stroke of work he used to call it, ha ha! ha!" "You are right, mad-mother. I have wasted too much time on it already."

"Yes, and when you might ha' been doin' something nicer, Jack." Here Mrs. Dawe beamed benevolently on her son and winked at him.

"Nicer!" said Jack.

Mrs. Dawe winked again, looked at the picture of her departed husband and beamed with increased vigour.

"Yes, you hav' been neglectin' your duty !

"Have I?" said Jack.

"You know you have. Poor thing !" "Poor thing!" said Jack.

"

"Yes, I means it. Poor thing! You have ill-treated her shameful."

"Ill-treated?" said Jack.

"You promised to finish the business months ago; but you've been so busy with your politics, I do believe it's gone clean out of your 'ead."

"Oh, the business," said Jack.

"Yes, she was here yesterday, and she complained bitterly of your neglect while you was at- -Oh, drat them church bells, they seem to say if you won't sleep in church, you shan't sleep nowhere else that's one of your father's, Jack!"

"So she wants the job done?" said Jack.

"Yes, she does; and the quicker it's done the better, she said; and so say I, and so say all of us, I hope. You're forty now, and life is short."

"And art long," mused Jack. "Though I doubt whether what this lady requires would be entitled to the denomination." "Well then," he said aloud, "you can tell her the next time you see her that I'm ready to do whatever she wants."

"Oh, that's a dear Jack!" and she smothered him with oily kisses. "I likes to see my son do what's right and proper. And, Jack, you'll see what a dinner I'll give you. I'll cook it myself."

With this threat she released him from her maternal embraces. "And now, mother," he said, rising, "I'll dress and go to church." For a moment her heart stood still and the old alarm seized her.

"Jack!" she panted, but remembering his specific declaration that he was not ill she let her face broaden into a smile. "That's twice in one morning," she said. "What's the good o' tryin' to make a fool o' your mother? Why, Natur' couldn't do it, and she 'ad the fust try. My gracious, wouldn't they stare to see Jack Dawe at St. John's?"

66

"6 'I know I have never been to St. John's before, but that is no reason against my going there now. Jack Dawe has changed his opinion. In other points," he added, seeing her emotion, I am willing to make large concessions; but this point is vital." Mrs. Dawe's face blazed with astonishment and anger, for there was the old expression on the face of her son, that look of determination which she dreaded and from which she knew there was no appeal. But the greatness of the issue moved her to fight to the bitter death. Those who have known the anguish caused by a son's deserting the faith of his forefathers, the religion in which he has been born and bred, will sympathise with the poor old woman, in danger of being cut off by her son's infidelity from all spiritual communion with him in her declining years. Moreover there seemed something strangely pliant, wavering, and meek, about him that morning, strongly in contrast with his wonted imperiousThe astonishing quiescence with which he had already given way in an important matter a moment ago, invited her to fresh victories while the humour lasted-to make hay before the erratic

ness.

66

sun sank below the horizon for an indefinite period. So she risked the combat. Go to church!" she cried. "Can't I make your flannel waistcoats? Do we stand in need of any charity? It's only a step from the church to the workus. And don't you remember what your father told the parson? I don't go to church,' ses he, 'that I may keep out o' temptation.' 'Temptation!' ses the parson. 'Yes, ses your father,' them as goes to church is tempted to put a bad 'apenny in the plate. And besides,' ses your father, which I knowed politics would make you wander from the right path; 'besides, ses your father, 'I don't believe in nothing, thank Gord, I don't; and a man as would go to church without meaning it, would rob a church mouse.' So sit down and finish your corfy." She laid her plump hand tentatively upon his, and not finding it rudely shaken off, she pressed him down lightly as though he were the dough of a pie

crust.

"He was doubtless a very straightforward man," he observed, settling down meekly and thinking that there was plenty of time to temporise. Her eyes twinkled with triumph; but the historical weapon was too dear to be laid aside, merely because it had vanquished the enemy. She continued her survey of her late husband's religious and theological opinions, as though her son had never heard them before.

"That he was," she replied; "and he'd always let you know 'is mind. 'I don't keep my views to myself,' he used to say; 'I lets other folks look at them. I makes my private view a public view.' And when, under my management, this cookshop began to thrive more than it 'ad ever done in his family, his views was more so than ever. He didn't 'ide his light under a bushel of lies, he didn't. And with sich a father, Jack, you wants to go to church! Shame on you! It's enough to make 'im turn in 'is grave. It's enough if a man goes three times in his life-once when he's born, once when he's married, and once when he's dead."

Jack could not help smiling at this maternal bull; not the last specimen of the Hibernian breed which ranged and occasionally escaped from their stalls in Mrs. Dawe's brain. Mrs. Dawe had now gone into the kitchen, whence a mingled odour of roast pork and beef-steak pudding began to enter on currents of air that continued to vibrate with her rather shrill tones. She was up to her elbows in dough and up to her neck in reminiscence. Ever courteous, ever shrinking from giving pain, Jack Dawe sat there with as grave attention as he would have given to the Queen. Dusty rays darting from the back-yard lit up his stained white suit, and his long white hands, and his careworn white face, and his dark eyes full of dreamy pain.

"The parson was always a-arguin' with him," continued the voice in the kitchen. "Many a set-to they used to have in the Park. When their opinions smashed together the shock was terrible—the parson was always thrown off the track and damaged severely. Parson,' your father would say, when he got talkin' about the delights of 'eaven and scornin' this world, parson, you are like

them poogilists as sometimes sees stars when they can't see what's under their noses. Your doctrines is as 'ard to swallow as Mrs. Prodgers's dumplins-and you should only try one of 'em, Jack. Them dumplins of hers is a 'elpin' my custom beautiful. But them as eat her widdles must stomach 'em as best they can. 'You're always a sayin', parson, that life is a dream, and that's why you give us your sermons to make your words come as true as possible. Ha! ha! ha! Sharp man, your father. Sally, the soup is bilin'! Drat that girl, you never see her when you want her, or want her when you see her."

Even this interruption did not long check the flow of Mrs. Dawe's recollections. Jack had fallen into a reverie on the Athanasian Creed, when the words, "Your father said," aroused him. 'My father must have been a modern Socrates," he thought, gazing up at the mild-eyed man with the bright badge on his breast; only he probably died from drinking beer instead of hemlock. Í will listen to what oral tradition records of him before the apotheosis of time surrounds him with legendary halo."

Singularly enough the next words related to the fluid unknown to classic democracy.

666 'No,' said your father, 'I sleeps at 'ome of a Sunday. Ten sermons ain't in it with a pint of beer. Life a dream, indeed! Them as says that life's a dream usually behaves as ridiklus as if it was.' 'All right, my man,' ses the parson. Do you ever think of what comes after death?' 'Often and often,' ses your father; 'and I'm saving up to 'ave the thing done 'andsome.' The parson groaned. He was licked again. And when your father winked to his mates, he grew desperit, and he said: The time'll come as you'll sit in sackcloth and ashes for this.' Your father grinned. D'ye think I'm going to be a dustman late in life?' he says. "I sticks to house-paintin'. There was a roar at this. And the parson walked away,' said your father, 'as solemn as a funeral plume.'

"And this is Demos," thought Jack mournfully, as he sipped his coffee. "Squalid as their lives seem to be, they make them loathlier by their meagre positivism. The finer aspects, the spiritual mysteries of existence are to them unrevealed. And how can any Government influence them unless it sinks to their level? As Tacitus finely said- No, I will take no more coffee, thank

you."

"But it's the finest corfy, and I gave one-and-eight a pound for it; and your other two cups 'll be wasted," ejaculated Mrs. Dawe. She had dislocated Jack's reflections by hovering suddenly over him with the half-inverted coffee-pot. Her bare arms were thickly sown with particles of dough, and a solitary currant clung desperately to her right elbow.

"I don't care for any more," Jack protested feebly. to the girl."

"Give it

I'd

"Give it to Sally! Why, lor bless you, that gal couldn't happreciate one-and-eightpenny corfy! It would be sheer waste. rather throw it in the dusthole at once. or drink it myself."