times in the course of the fifteen years that Mr. Irwine's sister Anne
had been an invalid. Splendid old ladies, who take a long time to dress
in the morning, have often slight sympathy with sickly daughters.

But while Mr. Irwine was still seated, leaning back in his chair and
stroking Juno's head, the servant came to the door and said, "If
you please, sir, Joshua Rann wishes to speak with you, if you are at
liberty."

"Let him be shown in here," said Mrs. Irwine, taking up her knitting.
"I always like to hear what Mr. Rann has got to say. His shoes will be
dirty, but see that he wipes them Carroll."

In two minutes Mr. Rann appeared at the door with very deferential bows,
which, however, were far from conciliating Pug, who gave a sharp bark
and ran across the room to reconnoitre the stranger's legs; while the
two puppies, regarding Mr. Rann's prominent calf and ribbed worsted
stockings from a more sensuous point of view, plunged and growled over
them in great enjoyment. Meantime, Mr. Irwine turned round his chair and
said, "Well, Joshua, anything the matter at Hayslope, that you've come
over this damp morning? Sit down, sit down. Never mind the dogs; give
them a friendly kick. Here, Pug, you rascal!"

It is very pleasant to see some men turn round; pleasant as a sudden
rush of warm air in winter, or the flash of firelight in the chill dusk.
Mr. Irwine was one of those men. He bore the same sort of resemblance to
his mother that our loving memory of a friend's face often bears to the
face itself: the lines were all more generous, the smile brighter, the
expression heartier. If the outline had been less finely cut, his face
might have been called jolly; but that was not the right word for its