Mr. Travers obeyed with alacrity, and after a satisfying wash in the
scullery came into the big kitchen with his face shining and took a seat
at the table. The cloth was neatly laid, and Mrs. Waters, fresh and
cool, with a smile upon her pleasant face, sat behind the tray. She
looked at her guest curiously, Mr. Travers's spirits being somewhat
higher than the state of his wardrobe appeared to justify.

"Why don't you get some settled work?" she inquired, with gentle
severity, as he imparted snatches of his history between bites.

"Easier said than done," said Mr. Travers, serenely. "But don't you run
away with the idea that I'm a beggar, because I'm not. I pay my way,
such as it is. And, by-the-bye, I s'pose I haven't earned that two
pounds Benn gave me?"

His face lengthened, and he felt uneasily in his pocket.

"I'll give them to him when I'm tired of the joke," said the widow,
holding out her hand and watching him closely.

Mr. Travers passed the coins over to her. "Soft hand you've got," he
said, musingly. "I don't wonder Benn was desperate. I dare say I should
have done the same in his place."

Mrs. Waters bit her lip and looked out at the window; Mr. Travers resumed
his breakfast.

"There's only one job that I'm really fit for, now that I'm too old for
the Army," he said, confidentially, as, breakfast finished, he stood at