She passes into the shop again with the same elastic tread, serves out two ounces of tobacco, detects a bad shilling, and focuses the customer with her dark eyes, appears but little impressed by his apologies, and more interested in her change, locks the till, and is once more in the parlour, talking about Miss Harriet again. "She is on her way now," she remarks; "at London Bridge by this time, and Master Hinchford--we must say Mr. Hinchford now, I suppose--helping her into the cab he's been kind enough to get for her." "What's the time now, Wesden?" asks the mother. "Well," after the usual efforts to disinter--or disembowel--the silver watch, "it's certainly just ten." "And by the time Tom's put the shutters up, she'll be here!" cries Mattie; "see if my words don't come true, Mr. Wesden." "Well, I hope they will; if they don't, I--I think I'll just put on my hat, and walk down to the station." Presently somebody coming down-stairs with a heavy, regular tread, pausing at the side door in the parlour, and giving two decisive raps with his knuckles on the panels. "Come in." Enter Mr. Hinchford, senior, with his white hair rubbed the wrong way, and his florid face looking somewhat anxious. "Haven't they come yet?" "Not yet, sir." "Ah! I suppose not," catching Mattie's glance directed towards him across the needlework which she has resumed again, and at which she is working harder than ever; "there's boxes to find, and pack on the cab, and Miss Harriet's no woman if she do not remember at the last minute something left behind in the carriage." "Won't you sit down, sir?" asks Mrs. Wesden. "N--no, thank you," he replies; "you'll have your girl home in a minute, and we mustn't over-crowd the little parlour. I shall give up my old habit of smoking here, now the daughter comes back--you must step up into my quarters, Wesden, a little more often." "Thank you." "Temporary quarters, I suppose, we must say, now the boy's getting on so well. Thank God," with a burst of affection, "that I shall see that boy in a good position of life before I die." "He's a clever lad." "Clever, sir!" ejaculates the father, "he's more than clever, though I don't sing his praises before his face. He has as clear a head-piece as any man of forty, and he's as good a man of business." "And so steady," adds Mrs. Wesden. "God bless you! madam, yes." "And so saving," is the further addition of Mr. Wesden,--"that's a good sign." "Ah! he knows the value of money better than his father did at his age," says the old man; "with his caution, energy, and cleverness we shall see him, if we live, a great man. Whoever lives to see him--a great man!" "It's a comfort when our children grow up blessings to us," remarks Mrs. Wesden, dreamily looking at the fire; "neither you nor I, sir, have any cause to be sorry for those we love so very, very much." "No, certainly not. We're lucky people in our latter days--good night." "You can't stop, then?" asked Wesden.