Mrs. Merry, rather surprised, bent over the paper, and began to spell out the address with one finger. "Lawrence Hill," she said, "ah, they used to call your father that in the old days. I never hear him called so now." "Never mind. What of the writing?" Mrs. Merry looked at it at a distance, held it close to her nose, and then tilted it sideways. All the time her face grew paler and paler. Then she took an envelope out of her pocket and glanced from the brown paper to the address. Suddenly she gave a cry, and threw her apron over her head. "Oh, Giles--Giles--whatever have you bin up to!" "What do you mean?" asked Allen, feeling inclined to shake her. "It's Giles's writing," sobbed Mrs. Merry, still invisible; "whatever you may say, it's his own writing, he never having been to school and writing pothooks and hangers awful." She tore the apron from her face and pointed, "Look at this Lawrence, and at this, my name on the envelope. He wrote, saying he's coming here to worry me, and I expect he's sent to your pa saying the same. They was thick in the old days, the wicked old days," said Mrs. Merry with emphasis, "I mean your pa and him as is dead and my brute of a Giles." "So Giles Merry wrote this?" said Allen thoughtfully, looking at the brown paper writing. "I wonder if the cross is a sign between my father and him, which has called my father to London?" "Have you seen Giles, sir?" asked Mrs. Merry dolefully, "if so, tell him I'll bolt and bar the house and have a gun ready. I won't be struck and bullied and badgered out of my own home." "I haven't seen your husband," explained Allen, rising, "this parcel was sent to my father by your son through Jane Wasp." Mrs. Merry gave another cry. "He's got hold of Cain--oh, and Cain said he hadn't set eyes on him. He's ruined!" Mrs. Merry flopped into a chair. "My son's ruined--oh, and he was my pride! But that wicked father of his would make Heaven the other place, he would." "I suppose Cain must have got the parcel from his father?" said Allen. "He must have. It's in Giles's writing. What was in the parcel, sir?" "A cross made of two sticks tied with a piece of grass. Do you know what that means?" "No, I don't, but if it comes from Giles Merry, it means some wicked thing, you may be sure, Mr. Allen, whatever you may say." "Well, my father was much upset when he got this parcel and he has gone to London." "To see Giles?" asked Mrs. Merry. "I don't know. The parcel came from Colchester." "Then Giles is there, and with my poor boy," cried Mrs. Merry, trembling. "Oh, when will my cup of misery be full? I always expected this." "Don't be foolish, Mrs. Merry. If your husband comes you can show him the door."