After supper the things were cleared away; and having first inquired whether Joan objected to the smell of smoke, Mrs. Bird filled a large china pipe for her husband, and brought him some queer-shaped tools, with which he began to carve the head of a walking-stick. “I told you that he was very clever,” she said; “do you know, he sometimes makes as much as four shillings in a week. He gives me the money, and thinks that I spend it; but I don’t, not a farthing. I put it all into the Savings Bank for him and Sally. There is nearly forty pounds there on that account alone. There, do you know what he is saying?” Joan shook her head. “He says that he is going to carve a likeness of you. He thinks that you have a beautiful head for a walking-stick. Oh! don’t be afraid; he will do it capitally. Look, here is the late accountant. I keep it in memory of him,” and Mrs. Bird produced a holly stick, on the knob of which appeared a dismal, but most lifelike, countenance. “He wasn’t very handsome,” said Joan. “No, he wasn’t handsome—only right-thinking; and that is why Jim would like to carve you, because you see you are handsome, though whether or no you are right-thinking remains to be proved.” Joan smiled; there was something very quaint about the little lady. “I hope that Mr. Bird does not want me to sit to him to-night,” she said, “for, do you know, I am dreadfully tired, and I think that I will go to bed.” “No, no; he will only make a beginning to-night, perhaps of two or three sticks, and afterwards he will study you. You will be much better for some sleep after your journey,—though you have not yet told me where you came from,” and she shook her straw-coloured head doubtfully. Joan made no answer, not feeling inclined to submit herself to cross-examination at the moment; but, going round the table, she shook hands with Mr. Bird and with Sally, who had been watching her all the evening and now put up her face to be kissed in a way that quite won Joan’s heart. “That shows that Sally likes you,” said Mrs. Bird, in a gratified voice; “and if Sally likes you I shall too, for she is never wrong about people. And now good night, my dear. We breakfast at half-past seven; but first I read some prayers if you would like to attend them: I read, and my two babies’ follow in a book. Be sure you put your light out.” Joan stumbled upstairs, and, too tired even for thought, was soon in bed. Beneath her she could hear a clapping and cracking of fingers, which told her that she was being vigorously discussed by the Bird family after their own strange fashion; and to this queer lullaby she went to sleep. CHAPTER XXIV. MESSRS. BLACK AND PARKER. Joan slept well that night, and woke to find the sunlight streaming in at her window. Coming down to the sitting-room at a quarter past seven, she saw that, early as it was, it had been swept and garnished and the breakfast laid.