That Luke Peartree was thrown upon her hands she knew from the moment of her husband’s death. As we have said, he was generally regarded as a kind of natural; and everybody knew that had it not been for his brother he would never have got work at all. Mark Peartree had been a skilful bargeman, and in order to secure his services the barge-owners had been quite willing that he should sail with his brother as mate. Consequently, Mrs. Pear-tree knew that it was quite useless for him to seek for work alone. For a time she was at her wits’ end to know what to do with him. Suddenly she remembered that he had a cousin across the river in Kent who might be willing to give him work on a riverside farm. She wrote, and got for answer that Joss Peartree wanted an odd hand, and would be glad, for kinship’s sake, to take on ‘Cousin Luke.’ Luke cried like a child when the news was told him, and Mrs. Peartree cried a bit too. It was like another death, this thought of parting with simple Luke, but what was she to do? She could not keep him; it was as much as she could do to keep herself--and the only prospect she saw of doing this was to go out as a monthly nurse, a post for which she was specially suited. Meantime her little store of money was rapidly diminishing, and each coin that was taken out warned her that her household must break up soon. After she had cried silently for a time, she resolutely dried her eyes, and set about comforting Uncle Luke. She promised that if he would only try to be happy she would try to visit him once or twice a year--and after she had earned a little, she would try to rent a small room in Gray-fleet, and make it a home where Luke could come and stop again with her. This assurance comforted Luke a good deal; at the same time it made him more keenly alive to what was taking place, and he asked, suddenly-- ‘Be you a-going to give up the house then, mother?’ ‘Ay, Luke--where be my means to keep it on?’ ‘And to sell the bit o’ furniture?’ ‘Yes, mate.’ ‘Then what’ll become o’ little Madlin?’ Mrs. Peartree glanced uneasily at the child, who was seated on a footstool by her side; then motioning Luke to be silent, she said hurriedly-- ‘Oh, _I’ll_ look after Madlin, never fear.’ But a day or so later, when Madeline was gone to school, Mrs. Peartree went on with the subject as if it had never been stopped. ‘I’ve been thinking about Madlin, Luke, and I’ve decided to send her away too.’ ‘What! part wi’ Madlin?’ cried Luke, aghast, and for a moment it seemed to him that Mrs. Peartree was growing very hard-hearted, but when he looked up he saw that her eyes were dim with tears. ‘Ay, mate, part wi’ our Madlin,’ she said, sorrowfully. ‘It a’most broke my heart when I thought on’t first, but I’m past that now. ’Twill be for the child’s good too. If she stopped wi’ us, she’d get but a poor bringing-up at best, bless her; but if she goes to _him_ he’ll make a lady on her.’ ‘Him, mother?’