spectacles, waited for them by a fire-plug. It was Polston, the
coal-digger,--an acquaintance, a far-off kinsman of Holmes, in
fact.

"Curious person making signs to you, yonder," said Cox; "hand, I
presume."

"My cousin Polston. If you do not know him, you'll excuse me?"

Cox sniffed the air down the street, and twirled his rattan, as
he went. The coal-digger was abrupt and distant in his greeting,
going straight to business.

"I will keep yoh only a minute, Mr. Holmes"----

"Stephen," corrected Holmes.

The old man's face warmed.

"Stephen, then," holding out his hand, "sence old times dawn't
shame yoh, Stephen. That's hearty, now. It's only a wured I
want, but it's immediate. Concernin' Joe Yare,--Lois's father,
yoh know? He's back."

"Back? I saw him to-day, following me in the mill. His hair is
gray? I think it was he."

"No doubt. Yes, he's aged fast, down in the lock-up; goin' fast
to the end. Feeble, pore-like. It's a bad life, Joe Yare's; I
wish 'n' 't would be better to the end"----