Gray comparing him with Jim Rosevear could not fail to mark the contrast. "Aunt S’bina, you been in the house all day," the girl said one evening as they sat at tea. "Well, my dear," returned Mrs. Byron easily, "I’ve been busy; I had the baking to do and this afternoon I’ve cleaned out the rubbish your mammy put in the stair-cupboard and after that"—she smiled and looked hopefully at her husband—"I mended yer uncle’s socks." Leadville, who was cutting himself a slice of ham, threw the knife into the dish with a clatter. Why did she meddle with his clothes? He’d rather wear them all holes than have her mend them. ’Your uncle,’ too! He wasn’t Gray’s uncle, he wasn’t even her cousin. No, but—and he drifted out upon the wave that was for ever lapping about his feet. "Do you think you can spare me? I should like to go home after tea," pursued the girl. "Iss, my dear, I can spare yer." "Why can’t you come too, Aunt S’bina?" "Me go up that hill? Why, you know trolly won’t take the least rise in the ground." "Well, I’ll push behind." "Don’t believe you’m strong enough." "Why not Uncle Leadville push it then?" Byron returned from his dream to sweep a lowering glance over the little platform of shivered wood. "I’d like to see myself pushin’ that thing." "’Twould do Aunt Sabina good to have a craik with mammy." As this was to him a matter of indifference he made no answer and Gray turned to Mrs. Byron. "Anyhow, auntie, you’ll come as far as the gate with me, won’t you?" "Why, of course I will. I did last night and the night before, didn’t I?" said the other innocently. From the yard gate the road was in sight as far as Hember. "Yes and I like for you to be there. It’s company till I get home." "I’ll give you my company," said Leadville abruptly, "without you askin’ me for’t." Gray turned a face, from which all expression had been banished, on the speaker. "I think you better stay with Aunt S’bina." "Oh, she don’t want me," he answered, a touch of pleading in his manner. "Iss, Leadville," said the wife tranquilly, "I’m glad for ’ee to stay in wi’ me. Let the young ones go, they don’t want we old ’uns followin’ of them up. We’ve ’ad our day." The man turned on her quickly. "Me old?" he cried with manifest irritation. "I’ll tell yer about old. I bain’t old." "You’m in yer prime; but that seem old to a young maid." "Do I seem old to you, Gray?" demanded he, and his eyes were both pleading and threatening, eyes so hungry that the girl had some ado to give him an unmoved reply. Not that she felt any sympathy with him in what she looked on as a tiresome aberration, but that under the quiet surface she was a little stirred and a little afraid. "You’m older than dad," she said at last.