The old man was the grandfather of her children, but she gave him always, and quite naturally, the title of respect. He took it from her and laid it back on the dresser with the other he had brought. Then he put his hand on her arm, and looked at her affectionately through dim spectacles. "You go to the other extreme," he said. "_You're_ too kind." After that she kept the money and she was glad of it too, for she was falling behind with her rent now. Then one Monday morning, the rent-collector making his weekly call, little brown book in hand, gave her a shock. He was a sprightly youth, cocky and curly, known among his intimates as Chirpy; and with a jealously cherished reputation for a way with the ladies. "Say, this is my last visit," he announced sentimentally, as he made his entry in the book, and poised his pencil behind his ear. "We can't part like this, can we?--you and me, after all these years. Too cold like." He drew the back of his hand significantly across his mouth. Ruth brushed his impertinence aside with the friendly insouciance which endeared her to young men. "Got the sack for sauce, then?" she asked. Chirpy shook his head ruefully. "Mr. Goldmann's sold the house." "Over our heads!" cried Ruth, aghast. She hated change, for change spelt the unknown, which in its turn meant danger. "Seems so," the youth replied. "No fault o mine, I do assure you." He returned to his point. "Anythink for Albert?" Ruth was thoroughly alarmed. Even in those days cottages in Old Town were hard to come by. "Who's our new landlord?" she asked. "Mr. Caspar, I heard say in the office." Ruth felt instant relief. "Mr. Edward Caspar?--O, _that's_ all right." "No; Alf--of the Garridges. Him they call All-for-isself Alfie!" Ruth caught her breath. "Thank you," she said, and closed the door swiftly. The youth was left titupping on the door-step, his nose against the panel like a seeking spaniel. Within, Ruth put her hand to her heart to stay its tumult. She was thankful Ernie was not there to witness her emotion, for she felt like a rabbit in the burrow, the stoat hard on its heels. All her old terrors revived.... The new landlord soon paid his first visit, and Ruth was ready for him. "You want to see round?" she asked, with the almost aggressive briskness of the woman who feels herself threatened. "Yes, as your landlord I got the right of entry." He made the announcement portentously like an emperor dictating terms to a conquered people. Ruth showed him dutifully round. He paid no attention to his property: his eyes were all for her; she did not look at him. Then they went upstairs where it was dark. There was a closed door on the left. Alf thrust it open without asking leave; but Ruth barred his passage with an arm across the door. "What's that?" he asked, prying. "Our room. You can't go in there. That's where my children was born." Alf tilted his chin at her knowingly.