"Yes," said Mrs. Teak.

Mr. Chase gave Mr. Teak a glance the pathos of which even the soot could
not conceal. "When I--I heard a pore little bird struggling in your
chimbley," he continued, with a sigh of relief. "Being fond of animals,
I took the liberty of comin' into your room and saving its life."

Mr. Teak drew a breath, which he endeavoured in vain to render noiseless.

"It got its pore little foot caught in the brickwork," continued the
veracious Mr. Chase, tenderly. "I released it, and it flowed--I mean
flew--up the chimbley."

With the shamefaced air of a man detected in the performance of a noble
action, he passed out of the room. Husband and wife eyed each other.

"That's Alf--that's Alf all over," said Mr. Teak, with enthusiasm. "He's
been like it from a child. He's the sort of man that 'ud dive off
Waterloo Bridge to save the life of a drownding sparrow."

"He's made an awful mess," said his wife, frowning; "it'll take me the
rest of the day to clean up. There's soot everywhere. The rug is quite
spoilt."

She took off her hat and jacket and prepared for the fray. Down below
Messrs. Teak and Chase, comparing notes, sought, with much warmth, to
put the blame on the right shoulders.

"Well, it ain't there," said Mr. Chase, finally. "I've made sure of
that. That's something towards it. I shan't 'ave to look there again,