Some meaning behind those words, the unsmiling twist of that hard-bitten face, the absence of the 'sir' that even Tom Gaunt generally gave him, all seemed part of an attack. And, feeling as if his heart were being squeezed, Derek looked straight into his face. “What's the matter, Tom?” “Matter! I don' know as there's anything the matter, ezactly!” “What have I done? Tell me!” Tom Gaunt smiled; his little, gray eyes met Derek's full. “'Tisn't for a gentleman to be held responsible.” “Come!” Derek cried passionately. “What is it? D'you think I deserted you, or what? Speak out, man!” Abating nothing of his stare and drawl, Gaunt answered: “Deserted? Oh, dear no! Us can't afford to do no more dyin' for you—that's all!” “For me! Dying! My God! D'you think I wouldn't have—? Oh! Confound you!” “Aye! Confounded us you 'ave! Hope you're satisfied!” Pale as death and quivering all over, Derek answered: “So you think I've just been frying fish of my own?” Tom Gaunt, emitted a little laugh. “I think you've fried no fish at all. That's what I think. And no one else does, neither, if you want to know—except poor Bob. You've fried his fish, sure enough!” Stung to the heart, the boy stood motionless. A pigeon was cooing; the sappy scent from the lopped bushes filled all the sun-warmed air. “I see!” he said. “Thanks, Tom; I'm glad to know.” Without moving a muscle, Tom Gaunt answered: “Don't mention it!” and resumed his lopping. Derek turned and walked out of the little wood. But when he had put a field between him and the sound of Gaunt's bill-hook, he lay down and buried his face in the grass, chewing at its green blades, scarce dry of dew, and with its juicy sweetness tasting the full of bitterness. And the gray shade stalked out again, and stood there in the warmth of the August day, with its scent and murmur of full summer, while the pigeons cooed and dandelion fluff drifted by.... When, two hours later, he entered the kitchen at home, of the company assembled Frances Freeland alone retained equanimity enough to put up her face to be kissed. “I'm so thankful you've come back in time to see your uncles, darling. Your Uncle John thinks, and we all agree, that to encourage those poor laborers to do things which are not nice is—is—you know what I mean, darling!” Derek gave a bitter little laugh. “Criminal, Granny! Yes, and puppyish! I've learned all that.” The sound of his voice was utterly unlike his own, and Kirsteen, starting forward, put her arm round him. “It's all right, Mother. They've chucked me.” At that moment, when all, save his mother, wanted so to express their satisfaction, Frances Freeland alone succeeded. “I'm so glad, darling!” Then John rose and, holding out his hand to his nephew, said: “That's the end of the trouble, then, Derek?” “Yes. And I beg your pardon, Uncle John; and all—Uncle Stanley, Uncle Felix; you, Dad; Granny.”