an unmanly taste for mud pies and dolls. But the imperious instinct was
aroused, and he gratified it in secret, caressing the child by stealth as
a miser runs to his hoard. In the women's presence he ignored its
existence, but he soon discovered that Ada shared none of his novel
sensations. And he grew indignant at her indifference, feeling that his
child was neglected.

Mrs Yabsley, for ever on the alert, felt some change in his manner, and
one Sunday morning received a shock. She was chopping wood in the yard.
She swung the axe with a grunt, and the billet, split in two, left the axe
wedged in the block. As she was wrenching it out, Jonah dropped his
cigarette and cried:

"'Ere, missis, gimme that axe; I niver like ter see a woman chop wood."

She looked at him in amazement. Times without number he had watched her
grunt and sweat without stirring a finger. Bitten with her one idea,
she watched him curiously.

It was the baby that betrayed him at last. Ada was carrying it past him
in furtive haste, when it caught sight of his familiar features. Jonah,
off his guard, smiled. The child laughed joyously, and leaned out of
Ada's arms towards him.

"W'y, wot's the matter, Joe?" cried Mrs Yabsley, all eyes.

Jonah hesitated. Denial was on his tongue, but he looked again at his
child, and a lump rose in his throat.

"Oh, nuthin', missis," he replied, reddening. "Me an' the kid took a