"We might, p'r'aps, find the nurse, or doctor, or some old friend; but then, unless they can bring up documentary evidence, 'tain't much good. You know, when old folks are made to swear about things that took place fifty years ago, people shake their heads and think about failing memories, and so on. You see we must have something strong to work upon. If we could get the date of your birth, and the marriage stiffikit, we should be all right, shouldn't we?" "Yes, they would prove all we want," said Septimus. "Exactly so," said Matt; "and if we couldn't get the date of your birth, how about date of baptism?" "That would do just as well," exclaimed Septimus. "No, it wouldn't," said the old man, "without it's got in how old you were when the parson made a cross on your forehead--eh?" Septimus was damped directly. "It's no use to be sanguine, you know, sir. What we've got to do is to expect nothing, and then all we do get is clear profit. Now, where were you baptised--do you know that?" "Yes," said Septimus. "Well, that's all right, if it contains the entry of your age at the time, but we won't be sure; and if it does, you see if your uncle don't bring someone to swear it's false, and that they nursed you a twelvemonth before you really were born. Most likely, you know, there'd be half-a-score done at the same time as yours, and they never asked your age. I don't say so, you know, only that perhaps it was so. Now, what do you call your birthday, sir?" "Tenth of January 17--," said Septimus. "Very good, sir; but then, that's only what you say, mind, and a bare word's not worth much in a court of law when a case is being tried. `'Tis,' says you. `'Tisn't,' says your uncle, who's rich, and prosperous, and respectable, and has the money, and lives in a big house, with plenty of well-to-do friends round him. `Prove your case,' says the judge to you; and mind you, sir, this is the ticklish point; it ain't a question of who's to have your father's money. He's got it, and it's a question of your turning him out. So, `Prove your case,' says the judge. `You've left this man in possession for a year, and now you say he does not hold the property lawfully. Prove your case.' `Can't my lord,' says you--`no documentary evidence.' And now do you know what the judge would say?" Septimus shook his head dismally. "`Judgment for the defendant'--that's your uncle, you know." And then, as if highly satisfied with his logical mode of putting the case. Matt snapped his fingers loudly after a large pinch of snuff. "But," said Mrs Septimus, "my doctor told me that he always kept a register of all the births he attended." Mrs Septimus said no more, for old Matt's fist went down upon the table with a bang that made some of the ink leap from the stand, but fortunately not upon Septimus Hardon's clean sheets of paper.