Frail in body but indomitable in spirit he confronted the accused, who, having overheard his remarks, came in and shook her fist in his face and threatened him with the terrors of the law. “A glue-pot can’t go without hands,” he said, obstinately. “If you had asked me for a little you could have had it, and welcome; but you had no business to take it.” “Take it!” vociferated the accused. “What good do you think it would be to me? I’ve ’ad eleven children and two husbands, and I’ve never been accused of stealing a glue-pot before. Where do you think I could put it?” “I don’t know.” said the captain, as soon as he understood. “That’s what I’m curious about. You go upstairs with Mrs. Chinnery, and if she don’t find that you’ve got that glue-pot concealed on you, I shall be very much surprised. Why not own up the truth before you scald yourself?” Instead of going upstairs the charwoman went to the back door and sat on the step to get her breath, and, giving way to a sense of humour which had survived the two husbands and eleven children, wound up with a strong fit of hysterics. Captain Sellers, who watched through the window as she was being taken away, said that perhaps it was his fault for putting temptation in her way. Mrs. Chinnery tried to keep her door fast next morning, but it was of no use. The captain was in and out all day, and, having found a tin of green paint and a brush among his stores, required constant watching. The day after Mrs. Chinnery saw her only means of escape, and at nine o’clock in the morning, with fair words and kind smiles, sent him into Salthaven for some picture-cord. He made four journeys that day. He came back from the last in a butcher’s cart, and having handed Mrs. Chinnery the packet of hooks and eyes, for which he had taken a month’s wear out of his right leg, bade her a hurried good-night and left for home on the arm of the butcher. He spent the next day or two in an easy-chair by the fire, but the arrival of Mrs. Willett to complete the furnishing of No. 5 from her own surplus stock put him on his legs again. As an old neighbour and intimate friend of Mr. Truefitt’s he proffered his services, and Mrs. Willett, who had an old-fashioned belief in “man,” accepted them. His one idea—the pot of paint being to him like a penny in a schoolboy’s pocket—was to touch things up a bit; Mrs. Willett’s idea was for him to help hang pictures and curtains. “The steps are so rickety they are only fit for a man,” she screamed in his ear. “Martha has been over with them twice already.” Captain Sellers again referred to the touching-up properties of green paint. Mrs. Willett took it from him, apparently for the purpose of inspection, and he at once set out in search of the glue-pot. “We’ll do the curtains downstairs first,” she said to Martha. “Upstairs can wait.”