The Rye opened up like a large park, beginning in the town and wending far away into a country prospect. At the Peckham end there were a dozen handsome trees, and under them a piece of artificial water where boys were sailing toy boats, and a poodle was swimming. Two old ladies in black came out of a garden full of hollyhocks; they walked towards a seat and sat down in the autumn landscape. And as William and Esther pursued their way the Rye seemed to grow longer and longer. It opened up into a vast expanse full of the last days of cricket; it was charming with slender trees and a Japanese pavilion quaintly placed on a little mound. An upland background in gradations, interspaced with villas, terraces, and gardens, and steep hillside, showing fields and hayricks, brought the Rye to a picturesque and abrupt end. "But it ain't nearly so big as Chester race-course. A regular cockpit of a place is the Chester course; and not every horse can get round it." Turning to the right and leaving the Rye behind them, they ascended a long, monotonous, and very ugly road composed of artificial little houses, each set in a portion of very metallic garden. These continued all the way to the top of a long hill, straggling into a piece of waste ground where there were some trees and a few rough cottages. A little boy came running towards them, stumbling over the cinder heaps and the tin canisters with which the place was strewn, and William felt that that child was his. "That child will break 'is blooming little neck if 'e don't take care," he remarked tentatively. She hated him to see the child, and to assert her complete ownership she clasped Jackie to her bosom without a word of explanation, and she questioned the child on matters about which William knew nothing. William stood looking tenderly on his son, waiting for Esther to introduce them. Mother and child were both so glad in each other that they forgot the fine gentleman standing by. Suddenly the boy looked towards his father, and she repented a little of her cruelty. "Jackie," she said, "do you know who this gentleman is who has come to see you?" "No, I don't." She did not care that Jackie should love his father, and yet she could not help feeling sorry for William. "I'm your father," said William. "No, you ain't. I ain't got no father." "How do you know, Jackie?" "Father died before I was born; mother told me." "But mother may be mistaken." "If my father hadn't died before I was born he'd 've been to see us before this. Come, mother, come to tea. Mrs. Lewis 'as got hot cakes, and they'll be burnt if we stand talking." "Yes, dear, but what the gentleman says is quite true; he is your father." Jackie made no answer, and Esther said, "I told you your father was dead, but I was mistaken." "Won't you come and walk with me?" said William. "No, thank you; I like to walk with mother."