"No flowers of rhetoric, Jack," he said with twinkling eyes, "such as my boy indulges in, but good sound sense--knows his facts. I shouldn't wonder if the labourers like that better. He knows what their bacon costs 'em, and how many loaves a week go to a family of six, and so on. I heard one or two old fellows saying 'Aye, that's right!' half a dozen times while he was speaking. I wish our old friend at the grammar school could have heard him!" "Yes, Mr. Belfield; the old gentleman would have been proud, wouldn't he?" "And you've a right to be proud, Jack. I know what you've done for the lad." "He's a good lad, sir. He comes to supper with me every Sunday, punctual, when he's in Meriton." "You've every reason to hope he'll do very well--a sensible steady fellow! It'd be a good thing if there were more like him." Then Chinks and the Bird had made an excursion on their bicycles to hear Andy, and brought back laudatory accounts--this though Chinks was suspected of Radical leanings, which he was not allowed by his firm to obtrude. And old Cox had heard him and pronounced the verdict that, though he might be no flyer like Mr. Harry, yet he had the makings of a horse in him. "Wants work, and can stand as much as you give him," said Mr. Cox. Immersed in a contemplation of the placard and in the reflections it evoked, Mr. Rock stepped backwards into the road in order to get a new view of the relative size of the lettering. Thereby he nearly lost his life, and made Andy present possessor of a tidy bit of money for which, in the natural course, he would have to wait many years. (This is trenching on old Jack's darling secret.) The agitated hoot of a motor-car sent him on a jump back to the pavement, just in time. The car came to a standstill. "I didn't come all this way on purpose to kill you, Mr. Rock!" Jack had turned round already, in order to swear at his all but murderer, who might reasonably have pleaded contributory negligence. Angry words died away. A small figure, enveloped in a dust cloak, wrapped about the head with an infinite number of yards of soft fabric, sat alone in the back of the car. The driver yawned, surveying Meriton with a scornful air, appearing neither disturbed by Mr. Rock's danger nor gratified by his escape. "It's so convenient," the small figure proceeded to observe, "when people have their names written over their houses. Still I think I should have known you without that. Andy has described you to me, you see." "Why, it's never--?" The broadest smile spread on Jack Rock's face. "Oh yes, it is! I always keep my word. I'm taking a holiday, and I thought I'd combine my visit to you with--" She suddenly broke off her sentence, and gave a gurgle. Jack thought it a curiously pleasant sound. "Why, there it is!" the Nun gurgled, pointing a finger at the wonderful placard in Jack's window. "You're--you're Miss Flower?" gasped Jack.