despondent eye of interrogation. "Me, at my age?" "You're not asked to sing. You can go out and spend the evening swearing and drinking with your low companions." She moved over to the mantelpiece, and adjusted one of her beloved pink candles. "You'd only spoil the music," she added. "If there wasn't no music there wouldn't be no religion," he grumbled. "It's 'armoniums in this world and 'arps in the next. I'd sooner be a pussyfoot than play an 'arp." Mrs. Bindle ignored the remark, and proceeded to re-pile a plate of sausage-rolls to a greater symmetry,[Pg 65] flicking an imaginary speck of dust from a glass-jug of lemonade. [Pg 65] "Now mind," she cried, as he walked towards the door, "I won't have you spoiling my evening, you'd better go out." "An 'usband's cross-roads, or why Bindle left 'ome," he grinned as he turned, winked at the right-hand pink candle and disappeared, leaving Mrs. Bindle to gaze admiringly at her handiwork. She had laboured very hard in preparing for the evening's festivities. II Half-way down the stairs, Mrs. Bindle paused to listen. Her quick ears had detected the sound of voices at the back-door, and what was undoubtedly the clink of bottles. Continuing her descent, she entered the kitchen, pausing just inside the door. "That's all right, 'Op-o'-my-thumb. A dozen it is," she heard Bindle remark to someone in the outer darkness. There was a shrill "Good-night," and Bindle entered the kitchen from the scullery, carrying a beer-bottle under each arm and one in either hand. "Who was that?" she demanded, her eyes fixed upon the bottles. "Oh! jest a nipper wot 'ad brought somethink for me," he said with assumed unconcern. "What did he bring?" she demanded, her eyes still fixed on the bottles.[Pg 66] [Pg 66] "Some beer wot I ordered." "What for?"
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