Barrington slipped him a sovereign, saying, “Come, speak out You're safe with me. I won't tell. You know, it's a bit thick, having you out here. The ladies are upset.” The man scratched his head. “It ain't the ladies I'm after. It's 'im. You've got 'is missis and kids in there. 'E was allaws fond of 'is kids, so they tell us. We calkilate that since 'e cawn't get out o' the country, 'e'll turn up 'ere sooner or later. These things is allaws painful for the family. That chap was a mug; 'e should 'a planned things better.” Barrington thought for a minute. Then he asked, “Are you a married man?” “Married, and five nippers, Gawd bless 'em.” “Well, look here, put it to yourself: how'd you like to have your wife made ill and your kiddies sent frightened to bed, because a stranger was always staring in at their windows?” “Shouldn't like it. I'd get damned peevish, I can tell yer.” “Good. Then you'll understand what I'm going to say. I'm a gentleman and you can trust my word. If the man you're after comes here, I'll hold him for you. In return I want you to be a little less obvious in your detective work. I can't have my family scared. Go further away, and watch from a distance. Is it a bargain?” Just then Barrington turned and saw Peter standing with his satchel across his shoulder. How much had he heard? He was awkward under his boy's eyes; he often wondered what thoughts went on behind them. “Run along, Peter. I'll be with you in a second.” Then to the man, “Is it a bargain?” “It ain't reg'lar,” said the man. “But under the circumstances, you'll do it. I'm not trying to interfere with your duty.” “My orders were----. Awright, sir, 'cause of the wife and kids I'll do it.” That night Peter thought matters out. It was he and his Uncle Waffles against the world. He did not accuse anybody, neither his father, nor Aunt Jehane; but there was a mistake somewhere. They did not understand. Whatever Uncle Waffles had done, to Peter he was still a good man. Peter crept out of bed and across the landing to a window in the front of the house. He peered into the blackness. By the railing of the fields, at a point mid-way between two gas-lamps where shadows lay deepest, he could see a figure watching. He must save Uncle Waffles from that. School had broken up. It was the twenty-fourth of December. There was still no news of Ocky. In their anxiety they had almost forgotten that to-morrow would be Christmas. That morning Barrington dawdled over his breakfast, postponing his departure for business. His wife glanced down the table at him, trying to conjecture the motive of his dallying. Presently he signaled her with his eyes, raising his brows at the children. When she had excused them, he turned to her and Jehane. “Whatever's happened or is going to happen, we don't want to rob the kiddies of their pleasure, do we? We've got to pull ourselves together and pretend to forget and try to be cheerful. What d'you say, Nan?”