“You must let me give it you. Put it on when you go to bed, and rub it well in; you'll find it act splendidly.” The old man took the little pot with dubious reverence. “Yes, m'm,” he said; “thank you, m'm.” “What is your name?” “Gaunt.” “And where do you live?” “Over to Joyfields, m'm.” “Joyfields—another of my sons lives there—Mr. Morton Freeland. But it's seven miles.” “I got a lift half-way.” “And have you business at the house?” The old man was silent; the downcast, rather cynical look of his lined face deepened. And Frances Freeland thought: 'He's overtired. They must give him some tea and an egg. What can he want, coming all this way? He's evidently not a beggar.' The old man who was not a beggar spoke suddenly: “I know the Mr. Freeland at Joyfields. He's a good gentleman, too.” “Yes, he is. I wonder I don't know you.” “I'm not much about, owin' to my leg. It's my grand-daughter in service here, I come to see.” “Oh, yes! What is her name?” “Gaunt her name is.” “I shouldn't know her by her surname.” “Alice.” “Ah! in the kitchen; a nice, pretty girl. I hope you're not in trouble.” Again the old man was silent, and again spoke suddenly: “That's as you look at it, m'm,” he said. “I've got a matter of a few words to have with her about the family. Her father he couldn't come, so I come instead.” “And how are you going to get back?” “I'll have to walk, I expect, without I can pick up with a cart.” Frances Freeland compressed her lips. “With that leg you should have come by train.” The old man smiled. “I hadn't the fare like,” he said. “I only gets five shillin's a week, from the council, and two o' that I pays over to my son.” Frances Freeland thrust her hand once more into that deep pocket, and as she did so she noticed that the old man's left boot was flapping open, and that there were two buttons off his coat. Her mind was swiftly calculating: “It is more than seven weeks to quarter day. Of course I can't afford it, but I must just give him a sovereign.” She withdrew her hand from the recesses of her pocket and looked at the old man's nose. It was finely chiselled, and the same yellow as his face. “It looks nice, and quite sober,” she thought. In her hand was her purse and a boot-lace. She took out a sovereign. “Now, if I give you this,” she said, “you must promise me not to spend any of it in the public-house. And this is for your boot. And you must go back by train. And get those buttons sewn on your coat. And tell cook, from me, please, to give you some tea and an egg.” And noticing that he took the sovereign and the boot-lace very respectfully, and seemed altogether very respectable, and not at all coarse or beery-looking, she said: