"Half in joke, half in earnest. I will not sell out if I can help it; be sure of that, old man; but I think it will have to come to it. Can you give me something to drink, Charley? I am thirsty." "Will you take some tea? I am just going to have mine. Or anything else instead?" "I was thinking of brandy and soda. But I don't mind if I do try tea, for once. Ay, I will. Have it up, Charley." I rang the bell, and Mrs. Watts brought it up. "Anything else, sir?" she stayed to ask. "Not at present. Watts has gone out with that letter, I suppose?---- Why, you have forgotten the milk!" She gave a sharp word at her own stupidity, and left the room. Tom's eyes had been fixed upon her, following her to the last. He began slowly pushing back his bright brown hair, as he would do in his boyhood when anything puzzled him. "Oh, I remember," he suddenly exclaimed. "So you have _her_ here, Charley!" "Who here?" "Leah." "_Leah!_ What do you mean?" "That servant of yours." "That is our messenger's wife: Mrs. Watts." "Mrs. Watts she may be now, for aught I know; but she was Leah Williams when we were youngsters, Charley." "Impossible, Tom. This old woman cannot be Leah." "I tell you, lad, it is Leah," he persisted. "No mistake about it. At the first moment I did not recollect her. I have a good eye for faces, but she is wonderfully altered. Do you mean to say she has not made herself known to you?" I shook my head. But even as Tom spoke, little items of remembrance that had worried my brain began to clear themselves bit by bit. Mrs. Watts came in with the milk. She had put it down on the tray when Tom walked up to her, holding out his hand, his countenance all smiles, his hazel eyes dancing. "How are you, Leah, after all these years? Shake hands for auld lang syne. Do you sing the song still?" Leah gave one startled glance and then threw her white apron up to her face with a sob. "Come, come," said Tom kindly. "I didn't want to startle you, Leah." "I didn't think you would know me, sir," she said, lifting her woebegone face. "Mr. Charles here did not." "Not know you! I should know you sooner than my best sweetheart," cried Tom gaily. "Leah," I interposed, gravely turning to her, "how is it that you did not let me know who you were? Why have you kept it from me?" She stood with her back against Mr. Brightman's desk, hot tears raining down her worn cheeks. "I _couldn't_ tell you, Master Charles. I'm sorry you know now. It's like a stab to me." "But why could you not tell me?" "Pride, I suppose," she shortly said. "I was upper servant at the Rectory; your mamma's own maid, Master Charles: and I couldn't bear you should know that I had come down to this. A servant of all work--scrubbing floors and washing dishes."