Towards evening Holmes went out,--not going through the narrow passage that led to the offices, but avoiding it by a circuitous route. If it cost him any pain to think why he did it, he showed none in his calm, observant face. Buttoning up his coat as he went: the October sunset looked as if it ought to be warm, but he was deathly cold. On the street the young doctor beset him again with bows and news: Cox was his name, I believe; the one, you remember, who had such a Talleyrand nose for ferreting out successful men. He had to bear with him but for a few moments, however. They met a crowd of workmen at the corner, one of whom, an old man freshly washed, with honest eyes looking out of horn spectacles, waited for them by a fire-plug. It was Polston, the coal-digger,--an acquaintance, a far-off kinsman of Holmes, in fact. "Curious person making signs to you, yonder," said Cox; "hand, I presume." "My cousin Polston. If you do not know him, you'll excuse me?" Cox sniffed the air down the street, and twirled his rattan, as he went. The coal-digger was abrupt and distant in his greeting, going straight to business. "I will keep yoh only a minute, Mr. Holmes"---- "Stephen," corrected Holmes. The old man's face warmed. "Stephen, then," holding out his hand, "sence old times dawn't shame yoh, Stephen. That's hearty, now. It's only a wured I want, but it's immediate. Concernin' Joe Yare,--Lois's father, yoh know? He's back." "Back? I saw him to-day, following me in the mill. His hair is gray? I think it was he." "No doubt. Yes, he's aged fast, down in the lock-up; goin' fast to the end. Feeble, pore-like. It's a bad life, Joe Yare's; I wish 'n' 't would be better to the end"---- He stopped with a wistful look at Holmes, who stood outwardly attentive, but with little thought to waste on Joe Yare. The old coal-digger drummed on the fire-plug uneasily. "Myself, 't was for Lois's sake I thowt on it. To speak plain,--yoh'll mind that Stokes affair, th' note Yare forged? Yes? Ther' 's none knows o' that but yoh an' me. He's safe, Yare is, only fur yoh an' me. Yoh speak the wured an' back he goes to the lock-up. Fur life. D' yoh see?" "I see." "He's tryin' to do right, Yare is." The old man went on, trying not to be eager, and watching Holmes's face. "He's tryin'. Sendin' him back--yoh know how THAT'll end. Seems like as we'd his soul in our hands. S'pose,--what d' yoh think, if we give him a chance? It's yoh he fears. I see him a-watchin' yoh; what d' yoh think, if we give him a chance?" catching Holmes's sleeve. "He's old, an' he's tryin'. Heh?" Holmes smiled. "We didn't make the law he broke. Justice before mercy. Haven't I heard you talk to Sam in that way, long ago?" The old man loosened his hold of Holmes's arm, looked up and down the street, uncertain, disappointed. "The law. Yes. That's right! Yoh're just man, Stephen Holmes." "And yet?"----