tossing about of bricks she had heard in the parlour.

Ginger was joining in the chorus!

As the singer started the second verse, Mrs. Bindle was conscious that someone was behind her. She turned to find Miss Stitchley standing at her shoulder. A moment later she realised that the little passage was overflowing with carol-singers.

Still she made no sign, not even when Miss Stitchley slipped past her and took up a position behind her[Pg 81] mother's chair. Mrs. Bindle realised that she was faced with a delicate situation.

[Pg 81]

The second chorus still further complicated matters. Mrs. Bindle was sure she heard the haunting refrain mumbled from behind her. She turned quickly; but treason came from the other direction. Suddenly Miss Stitchley burst into song, and the passage, throwing aside its hesitation, joined in, softly it is true, still it joined in.

"Come in, everybody!" cried Mrs. Stitchley, when the chorus ceased, momentarily forgetful that it was Mrs. Bindle's kitchen.

"Ain't 'e clever," she added, looking admiringly at the musician, who glanced up casually at the mistress of the house. Art Wiggins was accustomed to feminine worship and unlimited beer; he regarded them as the natural tributes to his genius.

"Come in, the 'ole lot," cried Bindle cheerily, as he proceeded to unscrew the stopper of a bottle. "'Ave a wet, Art," he cried, addressing the vocalist. "You deserves it."

The remainder of the parlour-party filtered into the kitchen, and Mrs. Bindle realised the anguish of a Louis XVIII. Her legions had gone over to the enemy.

"Now this," remarked Mrs. Stitchley to Ginger a quarter-of-an-hour later, "is wot I calls a cosy evenin'."

To which Ginger grumbled something about not "'oldin' wiv women."

Art Wiggins was the hero of the occasion. He[Pg 82] smoked halves of endless cigarettes, chewing the remainder; he drank beer like a personified Sahara, and a continuous stream of song flowed from his lips.

[Pg 82]

When at length he paused to eat, Mrs. Stitchley took up the running, urged on by Bindle, to whom she had confided that, as a girl, she had achieved what was almost fame with, "I Heard the Mavis 

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