“Nebber had no man mo’ dan tree monts,” she said. “Dacia Maree’s fader—he on’y stop a week. Benjum’s dad bin in gaol two yahs. Blanche Rosabel—her fader was a brown man, her grand-dad was a buckra.” The gardener blushed into his notebook. The police had certified that the family’s means of subsistence had been swept away by the earthquake, and the gardener, by one glance into an unsavoury hut, satisfied himself that no luxuries had been saved from the wreck. He therefore noted the case as needy, and asked his way to Daddy Hamilton. This gentleman, seated upon an upturned bucket, was studying a hymn-book through a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles. “God bless you, sah,” he said in the loud unmistakable voice of a joyous Christian. The gardener thanked him. “I see, Mr. Hamilton, that you told the police you had two married daughters whose husbands had been killed by the earthquake, and seven grandchildren dependent on you.” “Yessah. De Lawd giveth, an’ de Lawd taketh away.” “Certainly. And you had an emergency grant of several loaves of bread on Monday.” “Praise be to God, sah, I did. De Lawd giveth——” “On the contrary, in this case it was Mr. Tring that gave. Now, are either of your married daughters or any of your grandchildren at home?” “No, sah. Dey all gone to chapel.” “Really? Now there seems to be an idea among your neighbours that you live by yourself. How is it they have never noticed your two daughters and seven grandchildren?” “Dunno, sah. Deir eyes dey hab closed, lest at any time dey should see wid deir eyes, and hear wid deir ears——” “Do the whole ten of you sleep in that little hut?” “No, sah, I sleep on de graound aoutside. Foxes hab holes——” “Now, Mr. Hamilton, can you look me in the face and tell me that the bread that was given you was really eaten by yourself, and two daughters, and seven grandchildren?” “Yes, sah. To tell you de troot, sah, dey wasn’t ezackly blood-grandchildren. All men are brudders, we are told, sah, and derefore grandchildren, an’ daughters, an’ nieces too, sah. All de pickneys call me Daddy Hamilton. Suffer de little children to come unto me, saith de Lawd, so I suffer dem gladly.” “Yes, but do you ever charge anything for suffering them? Have you ever sold any of the bread that was given you?” “Well, sah, a man mus’ live.” “Yes, but the bread was given you to live on.” “Well, sah, money is better dan bread. You ask for bread and dey give you a stone.” “Not in this case. The bread was excellent. Do you know, Mr. Hamilton, I believe you are liable to be prosecuted for obtaining Mr. Tring’s gift under false pretences.” “No, sah, not false. I am a faitful sojer in de Lawd’s army, sah, faitful an’ joyful. Old Joybells dey call me.” “Still, this time I’m afraid you stepped aside. I will ask Mr. Tring what he would like done about it. At any rate, you won’t get any more bread given you for the present. I’ll see to that.” “God bless you, sah. De Lawd giveth, an’ de Lawd taketh away.”