“Father couldn’t save; ’e did ’is duty by them--’e couldn’t save. We’ve not been in the ’abit of askin’ people, sir; wouldn’t do such a thing--couldn’t!” “Well! You see they’ve made a start with old-age pensions?” The old man slowly answered: “I ’eard something--I don’t trouble about politics.” “Father never was one for the public-’ouse, sir; never.” “But you used to have a vote, of course?” A smile came on his lips, and faded; and in that smile, not even ironical, he passed judgment on the centuries that had left him where he was. “I never bothered about them. I let that alone!” And again he smiled. “I’ll be dead long before they reach _me_, I know that.” “The winter’s only half over. What are you going to do?” “Well, sir, I don’t know _what_ we’re goin’ to do.” “Don’t you think that, all things considered, you’d be better off in the--in the Infirmary?” Silence. “You know they--they’re quite comfortable, and----” Silence. “It’s not as if there were any--any disgrace, or----” Silence. “Well?” He rose and crossed over to the hearth, and my dog, disturbed, sniffed at his trousers. “You are worn out,” he seemed to say; “go where you ought to go, then my master will not have to visit you, and waste the time he owes to me.” And he, too, rose and came and put his snout on my knee; “When I am old, master, you will still take care of me--that is understood between us. But this man has no one to take care of him. Let us go!” The old man spoke at last: “No, sir. I don’t want to go there; I can work. I don’t want to go there.” Beyond him the whisper rose: “Father can work, sir; ’e can work. So long as we get a crust of bread, we’d rather stay ’ere.” “I’ve got _this_, but I can’t bring meself to use it. I can work; I’ve always worked.” He took out a piece of paper. It was an order admitting James White, aged 71, and Eliza White his wife, aged 71, into the local Workhouse; if used for purposes of begging to be destroyed. “Father can work, sir; ’e can work. We seen dreadful times in this room, believe, me, sir, before we came to getting that. We don’t want to go. I tell Father I’d rather die out ’ere.” “But you’d be so much more comfortable, Mrs. White; you must know that.” “Yes, sir; but there it is--I don’t want to, and Father don’t want to.” “I can work; I can go about with a barrer, or anything.” “But can you _live_?” “Well, sir, so long as we’re alive. After that, I can’t tell--they’ll get us then, I suppose.” And the whisper came: “We can’t ’elp it after that. As you see, sir--there’s nothin’ left, there’s nothin’ left.” She raised her hand and pointed to the bed; and the sun, that had been hidden all the morning, broke through and glittered on her wedding ring. THE CAREFUL MAN IV THE CAREFUL MAN