"There," cried old Matt, making a grimace, and glancing at Lucy, "I knew it would come to this; they're growing proud, and I may go. They might have put it off another day, and not showed it just when I feel so well and jolly, and could have enjoyed a bit of dinner, which ain't often with me." Septimus Hardon saw his wife's appealing glance, and peered about him in every direction, as if to avoid giving an answer; but on one side there was Tom, sticky and happy with the old man's bounty; before him was his invalid wife, with her wretched face; again, there was Lucy working, and relieving hunger by occasional mouthfuls of the bread-and-cheese at her side; while on turning his eyes in another direction, there stood Matt, just as he had stood on the day when he borrowed a shilling on their first encounter. What was he to do? He had as much pride, or false pride, as most men, and he would gladly have been independent of old Matt's assistance; but there seemed no help for it, and once more in his life, humbled and mortified, he nodded to Mrs Septimus; and the next moment old Matt stood irresolutely by the table clattering a couple of plates together, to the great endangering of their safety, as he seemed to be turning them into a pair of earthenware cymbals. "There, sir; don't, now," said Matt earnestly; "don't let's have any more pretence or nonsense about it; don't be put out because I'm doing this, sir. 'Tain't that I don't respect you; I didn't get on the stilts, sir, when you helped me. I asked you for it, which is a thing I know you couldn't do; but when it's offered you free and humble-like, don't take on, sir, and fancy I respect you any the less. I sha'n't forget my place, sir, 'pon my soul I sha'n't, begging your pardon, ma'am, and Miss Lucy's; but you see I'm in earnest, and it worries me to see Mr Hardon here put out, because--because--Well, you know," said Matt, with a twinkle in his eye, "because an old battered type of humanity like me wants to sit down and have a bit of dinner here, and it's all getting spoilt; best cut's gone, you know, I'm sure. I know I _am_ shabby." Septimus waved his hand deprecatingly.