Until her train went he was telling her of his prose flights and failures, and she was bemoaning her share in one of them. The High Street seemed a lonely place as he walked home to the flat. Yet the day was still the happiest that he had spent in London. The third week he sent a couple of offerings to _Tommy Tiddler_, but only one of them got in. He tried them with two again. Meanwhile there was an unexpected development in an almost forgotten quarter. After nearly a month's interval, there came one more thin envelope from the scholastic agents; and this time it was a Mrs. Bickersteth, of the Hollies, Teddington, who required a resident master immediately, to teach very little boys. Very little also was the salary offered. It was thirty pounds; and Harry was for tossing the letter into the first fire they had sat over in the flat, when his mother looked up from the socks which she was knitting for him, and took an unexpected line. "I wish you to apply for it," said she. "What, leave you for thirty pounds, when I can make twenty-six at home?" "That will make fifty-six; for you would be sure to have some time to yourself, and you say the verses only take you an hour on the average. At any rate I wish you to apply, my boy. I will tell you why if they take you." "Well, they won't; so here goes--to please you." He sat down and dashed off an answer there and then, but with none of the care which he had formerly expended on such compositions. And instead of the old unrest until he knew his fate, he forthwith thought no more about the matter. So the telegram took him all aback next morning. He was to meet Mrs. Bickersteth at three o'clock at the agents'. By four he had the offer of the vacant mastership in her school. It was the irony of Harry's fate that a month ago he would have jumped at the chance and flown home on the wings of ecstasy; now he asked for grace to consult his mother, but promised to wire his decision that evening, and went home very sorry that he had applied. Mrs. Ringrose sighed to see his troubled face. "Do you mean to tell me it has come to nothing?" "No; the billet's mine if I want it." "And you actually hesitated?" "Yes, mother, because I do not want it. That's the fact of the matter." Mrs. Ringrose sat silent and looked displeased. "Is the woman not nice?" she asked presently. "She seemed all right; rather distinguished in her way; but the hours are atrocious, and I made that my excuse for thinking twice about accepting such a salary. I have promised to send a telegram this evening. But, oh, mother, I don't want to leave you; not to go to a dame's school and thirty pounds a year!" "You would get your board as well." "But you would be all alone." "I could go away for a little. Your Uncle Spencer has asked me to go to the seaside next month with your aunt and the girls. I--I think it would do me good." "You could leave me in charge, and I would write verses all the time."