From a joke, Mr. Windsor's idea had grown into a great and solid fact. Mrs. Roaker, and most of the Happystowe people, had made up their minds by this time, that my father was "Admiral Upmore." He was too honest, and plain a man, to encourage this mistake for a moment, and, whenever he got the chance, declared most stoutly, that he was no Admiral. The public, however, would not believe him, having met with some indications in commercial dealings with him, that he prized the royal effigy; from which it was clear, what his motive was in desiring to disguise his rank. And the Boots of the _Twentifold Arms_ could swear that he saw _Admiral_ printed, on the back of the label of a hairy trunk, which had only B. U. on the front of it. And so he did, to a certain extent; for mother had taken an advertising card beginning with _Admirable_, and cut it across, and put father's initials on the other side. "They may call me what they like," my father said, when tired of contradiction, "so long as they don't charge me for it. _Admiral_ Upmore serves my turn, uncommonly well, for two things. Billy Barlow would lock his gate, if he knew that I am only Boiler Upmore; and I am finding out some fine things there. And again, if any lawyer comes sneaking after my heels, with that chummy's process, he'll find his mistake in the visitor's list. But, Tommy, you'll catch it, if you let out a word of this in Maiden Lane. Why, I never should hear the last of it!" And so the whole three of us went to church; and the sailors sitting on the tombstones--most of which were like chests of drawers, but without any handles to the names below--touched their hats to the Admiral's lady, and the gallant Admiral himself, and the smart little chap, who had been for a fly, like the cherub aloft, who smiles luck to poor Jack. It was one of dear mother's proudest moments--for the men at our works would never touch their hats, unless they had been tipped a shilling quite lately--and she bowed with her feathers (which had been a cock's) throwing off quite a flash, and a rustle; until she was compelled to look very grave, by the remark of an ancient tar, that he had never seen so fine a woman. But alas, how fate does ring her changes with articulate-speaking mortals--the triumph of the chime, the hesitation of the back-stroke, and the toll of disappointment! Ere ever the bells in the tower had ceased, and the organ taken up the tale, dear mother was a pensive-hearted female, and her feathers out of plume. For in coming up the aisle, she had whispered to the buxom pew-opener; "Lady Towers-Twentifold has been seeking to make my acquaintance. Can we sit anywhere near her pew?"