"I _know_ it's a come-down," Sam owned. "And a shilling at most for overtime--meanin' no offence--" Mr. Mortimer waved a hand. "If," said he, "it be a question of my rendering you any small service, I beg, my friend--I command--that all question of pecuniary recompense be left out of the discussion." Sam, feeling that he had to deal with a noble character, explained that the job was an easy one; merely to lead or ride one of the horses down the hauling-path to where the boat lay, to hitch on the tackle, cast off straps, pull up and ship the two crowbars to which they were made fast, and so take the tiller and steer home. The horse knew his business, and would do the rest. "And you can't mistake the boat. _Duchess of Teck_ is her name, an' she lies about three ropes' lengths this side of the iron bridge, just as you come abreast o' the brick wall that belongs to the Orph'nage." "Bring forth the steed," commanded Mr. Mortimer. "Nay, I will accompany you to the stables and fetch him." "_And_ the saucepan! Don't forget the saucepan!" Mrs. Mortimer called after them in a sprightly voice as they crossed the yard together. "Ha, the saucepan!" Within the stable doorway Mr. Mortimer stood still and pressed a hand to his brow. "You cannot think, my dear Smiles, how that obligation weighs on me. The expense of a saucepan--what is it? And yet--" He seemed to ponder. Of a sudden his brow cleared. "--Unless, to be sure--that is to say, if you should happen to have a shilling about you?" "I got no change but 'arf-a-crown, if that's any use," answered the charmed Sam. "Nothing smaller? Still," suggested Mr. Mortimer quickly, "I could bring back the change." "Yes, do." "It will please Arabella, too. In point of fact, during the whole of our married life I have made it a rule never to absent myself from her side without bringing back some trifling gift. Women--as you will understand one of these days--set a value on these _petits soins_; and somewhere in the neighbourhood of the iron bridge a tinsmith's should not be hard to find . . . Ah, thanks, my dear fellow--thanks inexpressibly! Absurd of me, of course; but you cannot think what a load you have taken off my mind." Sam unhitched one of a number of hauling tackles hanging against the wall, and led forth his horse--a sturdy old grey, by name Jubilee. Casting the tackle carelessly on the animal's back, he handed Mr. Mortimer the headstall rope, and left him, to return two minutes later with the saucepan he had promised. "She must use this one for the time," he explained. "And afterwards yours will come as a surprise." "It must be so, I suppose," assented Mr. Mortimer, but after a pause, and reluctantly, averting his eyes from the accursed thing.