me for a long time." And then, at last his landlady answered him,
in a composed, soothing voice, which somehow did him good to hear.
"I quite understand, sir. And when Bunting comes in he shall take
the pictures all down. We have plenty of space in our own rooms
for them."

"Thank you--thank you very much."

Mr. Sleuth appeared greatly relieved.

"And I have brought you up my Bible, sir. I understood you wanted
the loan of it?"

Mr. Sleuth stared at her as if dazed for a moment; and then, rousing
himself, he said, "Yes, yes, I do. There is no reading like the Book.
There is something there which suits every state of mind, aye, and of
body too--"

"Very true, sir." And then Mrs. Bunting, having laid out what really
looked a very appetising little meal, turned round and quietly shut
the door.

She went down straight into her sitting-room and waited there for
Bunting, instead of going to the kitchen to clear up. And as she
did so there came to her a comfortable recollection, an incident of
her long-past youth, in the days when she, then Ellen Green, had
maided a dear old lady.

The old lady had a favourite nephew--a bright, jolly young gentleman,
who was learning to paint animals in Paris. And one morning Mr.