“'Ere. 'Ave 'em. I 'ear you ain't well.” He swung the bag of apples on to the bed. “Bought 'em from a gal off a barrer” He paused awkwardly. “That was good of you,” said Ocky. “Come and sit down.” Mr. Grace scratched his head. “I dunno as I want to sit down. I dunno as you and me is friends. Remember the last time we met and h'all the trouble we 'ad? You wuz a nice old cough-drop in them days. I 'ad to 'it yer wiv this 'ere whip--the wery same one--to make yer let go o' the top o' the gate and fall inter the stable. Well, I 'it yer in kindness; but it's because I 'it yer that I dunno whether you and me is friends.” “We're friends,” said Ocky. Mr. Grace sat down. It was most curious, all this. He hadn't got his bearings. This chap, lying in a decent bed and waited on hand and foot by ladies, was Mr. Waffles, if you please. But he had been an old cock who climbed walls to avoid policemen, and rode about at night in philanthropic cabs. He turned to him gruffly. “Eat one o' them there apples. Bought 'em from a gal off a barrer.--Did h'I tell yer that h'already?” It was a sign that the truce was established. Mr. Grace became a frequent caller. An odd friendship grew up between these two men, both broken on the wheel of feminine perversity. They exchanged notes on their experiences. Ocky spoke to the old cabby with greater freedom than to anyone, save Peter. Jehane had always said of him that he found it easy to be sociable with underlings and ostlers. In this case he found it easy because of the wide charity of the underling's personal laxity. Sometimes Miss Effie would steal in and read to them of a man who chose his companions from among publicans and sinners. Mr. Grace would pay her the closest attention and ask her to repeat certain passages; he was picking up pointers, with which to challenge his daughter's confident assertions concerning God's unvarying severity. And then Jehane! She came one afternoon to Topbury to visit Nan. She had heard nothing; nothing was told her. Peter waited for an opportunity to get her to himself. In the garden after dinner the others contrived to leave them together. “Going up to Oxford, Peter? Oh, well, it's good to have opportunities and a father with money. My poor Eustace, he'll never have that. I might, while you're there----.” She paused; the thought had just occurred to her--a new plan for marrying off her girls “I might let Glory and Riska visit my father and mother while you're there. It would be pleasant for all of you. Would you like that?” “Splendid,” said Peter. She eyed him, suspecting the sincerity of his enthusiasm. “Of course, if you don't want your cousins---.” “I do,” he assured her. “I'm going to Calvary College; that's just opposite Professor Usk's house. I'll be able to see plenty of them.” Then, knowing how she liked to be appealed to as a person with superior knowledge, “I wish you'd tell me some of the things I mustn't do; Oxford etiquette's so full of _mustn'ts_.”