The hulking mason entered awkwardly, and refused a chair. His large frame bulked abnormally in a ready-made suit of stiff black cloth. He seemed to take up half the room, as he stood and glowered, a full-length figure of surly embarrassment and dark resolve. "There was a funeral to-day," he began at last. "I know." "That was my poor mother, Mr. Carlton." "Yes, I heard. Tom, I'm so sorry for you!" Their hands flew together, and were one till Carlton winced. "There's nothun to be sorry for," said Tom, with husky philosophy. "Her troubles are over, poor thing. So's one o' mine! You can start me to-morrow." "Start you, Tom?" "Yes, sir, I mean to work for you now. I'd like to see the man who'll stop me! You've shown 'em all the man you are; now that's _my_ turn." And the broad face beamed and darkened with alternate enthusiasm and defiance. Carlton beheld it with parted lips and startled eye; and so they stood through a long silence, till Carlton sat down with a smile. It was a singularly gentle smile, as he leant back in his worn old chair, and the lamplight fell upon his face. "After all these months," he murmured; "after all these months!" "I fare to hide my face when I count 'em up," admitted Ivey, bitterly. "But what was the good of comun when I couldn't come for good? And how could I in poor mother's time? It'd have meant--there's no sayun what that wouldn't have meant." "You mean as regards Sir Wilton?" "I do, Mr. Carlton." "He will have been a good friend to you?" "Oh, yes." "Did those repairs, did he?" "Yes," sighed Ivey, "he was better than his word about them; you would hardly know the place now. It made a lot of difference to mother. And I had the job." "Oh!" "He's kept me busy, I must say. I've never wanted work." "Until now, I suppose?" "To tell you the truth, sir, I'm at work for him still." "For Sir Wilton Gleed?" "Yes--odd jobs about the estate." "Then my good fellow, what do you mean by offering yourself to me?" "Mean?" exclaimed Ivey, his black determination leaping into flame. "I mean as I've made up my mind to give him the go-by for you. I'd have done that long ago if it hadn't been for mother; but better late than never. You've shown 'em the man you are, and now that's my turn. Look at what you've done with your own two hands--there'll be other two from to-morrow! You shan't work yourself right to death before my eyes. Why, your hair's white with it already!" Carlton wheeled further from the lamp. "Not white," he murmured. "But that is, sir. When did you look in a glass?" "I don't know." "Then do you look to-morrow. That's white as snow. And your beard's grey." "It's certainly too long," said Carlton, covering half with his hand. "And your hand--your hand!" It was scarred and horny as the mason's own. Carlton removed it from the light, but said nothing. "That's done its last day's work alone," cried Tom. "I start with you to-morrow, whether you want me or not. I'll show 'em! I'll show 'em!"