"I'm eighty-four," he went on, "and terrible bad with the rheumatics and my chest. Maybe it'll not be long before the Lord remembers me." The child crept close and put a sticky little hand confidingly into the tired old palm. The two looked strangely alike, for the world seems much the same to those who leave it behind as to those who have but taken the first step on its circular pathway. "'Ook at my kitty," she said, pointing to the small creature in her lap. Then, as the old man touched it with trembling fingers she went on--"'Oo isn't my grandad; he's away in the sky, but I'll kiss 'oo." I worked on, hearing at intervals the old piping voice and the child-treble, much of a note; and thinking of the blessings vouchsafed to the simple old age which crowns a harmless working-life spent in the fields. The two under the hedge had everything in common and were boundlessly content together, the sting of the knowledge of good and evil past for the one, and for the other still to come; while I stood on the battlefield of the world, the flesh, and the devil, though, thank God, with my face to the foe. The old man sat resting: I had promised him a lift with my friend the driver of the flour-cart, and he was almost due when the child's grandmother came down the road. When she saw my other visitor she stood amazed. "What, Richard Hunton, that worked with my old man years ago up at Ditton, whatever are you doin' all these miles from your own place?" "Is it Eliza Jakes?" He looked at her dazed, doubtful. "An' who else should it be? Where's your memory gone, Richard Hunton, and you not such a great age either? Where are you stayin'?" Shame overcame him; his lips trembled, his mild blue eyes filled with tears. I told the tale as I had heard it, and Mrs Jakes's indignation was good to see. "Not keep you on 'alf a crown! Send you to the House! May the Lord forgive them! You wouldn't eat no more than a fair-sized cat, and not long for this world either, that's plain to see. No, Richard Hunton, you don't go to the House while I'm above ground; it'd make my good man turn to think of it. You'll come 'ome with me and the little 'un there. I've my washin', and a bit put by for a rainy day, and a bed to spare, and the Lord and the parson will see I don't come to want." She stopped breathless, her defensive motherhood in arms. The old man said quaveringly, in the pathetic, grudging phrase of the poor, which veils their gratitude while it testifies their independence, "Maybe I might as well." He rose with difficulty, picked up his bundle and stick, the small child replaced the kitten in its basket, and thrust her hand in her new friend's. "Then 'oo _is_ grandad tum back," she said. Mrs Jakes had been fumbling in her pocket, and extracted a penny, which she pressed on me. "It's little enough, mister," she said. Then, as I tried to return it: "Nay, I've enough, and yours is poor paid work."