Mrs. Duckie naturally began by asking after my young lady. "The pretty dear," she said, "I hope she's well, and that you're comfortable where you are. Sorry we were to lose you. And are there any little ones? Not yet--but there will be, I hope and trust. Such a sweet lady and such a nice gentleman, it would be a sin not to have any. So many people to-day aren't having any, and I call it a crying shame. But you're not like that. There must be one little Master Falconer at any rate, if not two, and a little Miss Falconer as well. One of each is best. Single children get spoiled and too clever too: no give-and-take and always hearing their parents talk; not good for a child. No, a noisy nursery is best, with a good quarrel now and then. That's the way to make men and women. The next time you call I hope you'll be able to bring the good news," the honest creature concluded. She went on--without interruption--to talk of her own family. "Why all my children should be so bitten by the music halls I can't think," she remarked mournfully. "I never cared for the places myself, and my husband is all for serious music when he gets the chance; while their grandfather on their father's side was a local preacher, and my father, God bless him, as quiet a man as you'd find anywhere, and so little ear that he didn't know the 'Old Hundredth' from 'Home, Sweet Home.' It just shows what a wonderful thing this heredity is. I suppose there must have been someone in the family somewhere who was more skittish. Of course one never knows all about anyone. Perhaps Duckie's father sang a bit loose before he took to religion." "Your mother didn't sing?" I asked. "No, bless her heart, she didn't. But I've heard her say, now I come to think of it, that her mother was famous in 'Sir Roger.' Perhaps that's where it all started. But it makes me very unhappy. There's Be-trice now, these two houses a night just wear her out. And Ern calling himself an 'Ugly,' it's dreadful. Such a pretty child as he was too, with fair curls down to his shoulders. I don't know what the world's coming to." I asked after Mr. Duckie. "He's very well," said Mrs. Duckie, "but tired. Always on his poor feet, you know. He's got a great idea of finding someone with a little money to join him in starting an eating-house of his own, and though of course it's very risky I almost wish he could; for he's getting on in years and it's a shame he should spend his whole life in making money for someone else. I wonder if you know of anyone with a little capital, sir?" "I'll think about it," I said, at once remembering both the unoccupied Mr. Wiles and Lacey's cold chop scheme.