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  THE oldest inhabitant of Claybury sat beneath the sign of the"Cauliflower" and gazed with affectionate, but dim, old eyes in thedirection of the village street.

  "No; Claybury men ain't never been much of ones for emigrating," hesaid, turning to the youthful traveller who was resting in the shadewith a mug of ale and a cigarette. "They know they'd 'ave to go a longway afore they'd find a place as 'ud come up to this."

  He finished the tablespoonful of beer in his mug and sat for so longwith his head back and the inverted vessel on his face that thetraveller, who at first thought it was the beginning of a conjuringtrick, colored furiously, and asked permission to refill it.

  Now and then a Claybury man has gone to foreign parts, said the old man,drinking from the replenished mug, and placing it where the travellercould mark progress without undue strain; but they've, gen'rallyspeaking, come back and wished as they'd never gone.

  The on'y man as I ever heard of that made his fortune by emigrating wasHenery Walker's great-uncle, Josiah Walker by name, and he wasn't aClaybury man at all. He made his fortune out o' sheep in Australey, andhe was so rich and well-to-do that he could never find time to answerthe letters that Henery Walker used to send him when he was hard up.

  Henery Walker used to hear of 'im through a relation of his up inLondon, and tell us all about 'im and his money up at this here"Cauliflower" public-house. And he used to sit and drink his beer andwonder who would 'ave the old man's money arter he was dead.

  When the relation in London died Henery Walker left off hearing abouthis uncle, and he got so worried over thinking that the old man mightdie and leave his money to strangers that he got quite thin. He talkedof emigrating to Australey 'imself, and then, acting on the advice ofBill Chambers--who said it was a cheaper thing to do--he wrote to hisuncle instead, and, arter reminding 'im that 'e was an old man living ina strange country, 'e asked 'im to come to Claybury and make his 'omewith 'is loving grand-nephew.

  It was a good letter, because more than one gave 'im a hand with it, andthere was little bits o' Scripture in it to make it more solemn-like. Itwas wrote on pink paper with pie-crust edges and put in a greenenvelope, and Bill Chambers said a man must 'ave a 'art of stone if thatdidn't touch it.

  Four months arterwards Henery Walker got an answer to 'is letter from'is great-uncle. It was a nice letter, and, arter thanking Henery Walkerfor all his kindness, 'is uncle said that he was getting an old man, andp'r'aps he should come and lay 'is bones in England arter all, and if hedid 'e should certainly come and see his grand-nephew, Henery Walker.

  Most of us thought Henery Walker's fortune was as good as made, but BobPretty, a nasty, low poaching chap that has done wot he could to giveClaybury a bad name, turned up his nose at it.

  "I'll believe he's coming 'ome when I see him," he ses. "It's my beliefhe went to Australey to get out o' your way, Henery."

  "As it 'appened he went there afore I was born," ses Henery Walker,firing up.

  "He knew your father," ses Bob Pretty, "and he didn't want to take norisks."

  They 'ad words then, and arter that every time Bob Pretty met 'im heasked arter his great-uncle's 'ealth, and used to pretend to think 'ewas living with 'im.

  "You ought to get the old gentleman out a bit more, Henery," he wouldsay; "it can't be good for 'im to be shut up in the 'ouse somuch--especially your 'ouse."

  Henery Walker used to get that riled he didn't know wot to do with'imself, and as time went on, and he began to be afraid that 'is unclenever would come back to England, he used to get quite nasty if anybodyon'y so much as used the word "uncle" in 'is company.

  It was over six months since he 'ad had the letter from 'is uncle, and'e was up here at the "Cauliflower" with some more of us one night, whenDicky Weed, the tailor, turns to Bob Pretty and he ses, "Who's the oldgentleman that's staying with you, Bob?"

  Bob Pretty puts down 'is beer very careful and turns round on 'im.

  "Old gentleman?" he ses, very slow. "Wot are you talking about?"

  "I mean the little old gentleman with white whiskers and a squeakyvoice," ses Dicky Weed.

  "You've been dreaming," ses Bob, taking up 'is beer ag'in.

  "I see 'im too, Bob," ses Bill Chambers.

  "Ho, you did, did you?" ses Bob Pretty, putting down 'is mug with abang. "And wot d'ye mean by coming spying round my place, eh? Wot d'yemean by it?"

  "Spying?" ses Bill Chambers, gaping at 'im with 'is mouth open; "Iwasn't spying. Anyone 'ud think you 'ad done something you was ashamedof."

  "You mind your business and I'll mind mine," ses Bob, very fierce.

  "I was passing the 'ouse," ses Bill Chambers, looking round at us, "andI see an old man's face at the bedroom winder, and while I was wonderingwho 'e was a hand come and drawed 'im away. I see 'im as plain as ever Isee anything in my life, and the hand, too. Big and dirty it was."

  "And he's got a cough," ses Dicky Weed--"a churchyard cough--I 'eardit."

  "It ain't much you don't hear, Dicky," ses Bob Pretty, turning on 'im;"the on'y thing you never did 'ear, and never will 'ear, is any good ofyourself."

  He kicked over a chair wot was in 'is way and went off in such a temperas we'd never seen 'im in afore, and, wot was more surprising still, butI know it's true, 'cos I drunk it up myself, he'd left over arf a pinto' beer in 'is mug.

  "He's up to something," ses Sam Jones, starting arter him; "mark mywords."

  We couldn't make head nor tail out of it, but for some days arterwardyou'd ha' thought that Bob Pretty's 'ouse was a peep-show. Everybodystared at the winders as they went by, and the children played in frontof the 'ouse and stared in all day long. Then the old gentleman was seenone day as bold as brass sitting at the winder, and we heard that it wasa pore old tramp Bob Pretty 'ad met on the road and given a home to, andhe didn't like 'is good-'artedness to be known for fear he should bemade fun of.

  Nobody believed that, o' course, and things got more puzzling than ever.Once or twice the old gentleman went out for a walk, but Bob Pretty or'is missis was always with 'im, and if anybody tried to speak to himthey always said 'e was deaf and took 'im off as fast as they could.Then one night up at the "Cauliflower" here Dicky Weed came rushing inwith a bit o' news that took everybody's breath away.

  "I've just come from the post-office," he ses, "and there's a letter forBob Pretty's old gentleman! Wot d'ye think o' that?"

  "If you could tell us wot's inside it you might 'ave something to bragabout," ses Henery Walker.

  "I don't want to see the inside," ses Dicky Weed; "the name on theoutside was good enough for me. I couldn't hardly believe my own eyes,but there it was: 'Mr. Josiah Walker,' as plain as the nose on yourface."

  O' course, we see it all then, and wondered why we hadn't thought of itafore; and we stood quiet listening to the things that Henery Walkersaid about a man that would go and steal another man's great-uncle from'im. Three times Smith, the landlord, said, "Hush!" and the fourth timehe put Henery Walker outside and told 'im to stay there till he 'ad losthis voice.

  Henery Walker stayed outside five minutes, and then 'e come back inag'in to ask for advice. His idea seemed to be that, as the oldgentleman was deaf, Bob Pretty was passing 'isself off as Henery Walker,and the disgrace was a'most more than 'e could bear. He began to getexcited ag'in, and Smith 'ad just said "Hush!" once more when we 'eardsomebody whistling outside, and in come Bob Pretty.

  He 'ad hardly got 'is face in at the door afore Henery Walker started on'im, and Bob Pretty stood there, struck all of a heap, and staring at'im as though he couldn't believe his ears.

  "'Ave you gone mad, Henery?" he ses, at last.

  "Give me back my great-uncle," ses Henery Walker, at the top of 'isvoice.

  Bob Pretty shook his 'ead at him. "I haven't got your great-uncle,Henery," he ses, very gentle. "I know the name is the same, but wot ofit? There's more than one Josiah Walker in the world. This one is norelation to you at all; he's a very respectable old gentleman."

  "I'll go and ask 'im," ses He
nery Walker, getting up, "and I'll tell 'imwot sort o' man you are, Bob Pretty."

  "He's gone to bed now, Henery," ses Bob Pretty.

  "I'll come in the fust thing to-morrow morning, then," ses HeneryWalker.

  "Not in my 'ouse, Henery," ses Bob Pretty; "not arter the things you'vebeen sayin' about me. I'm a pore man, but I've got my pride. Besides, Itell you he ain't your uncle. He's a pore old man I'm giving a 'ome to,and I won't 'ave 'im worried."

  "'Ow much does 'e pay you a week, Bob?" ses Bill Chambers.

  Bob Pretty pretended not to hear 'im.

  "Where did your wife get the money to buy that bonnet she 'ad on onSunday?" ses Bill Chambers. "My wife ses it's the fust new bonnet shehas 'ad since she was married."

  "And where did the new winder curtains come from?" ses Peter Gubbins.

  Bob Pretty drank up 'is beer and stood looking at them very thoughtful;then he opened the door and went out without saying a word.

  "He's got your great-uncle a prisoner in his 'ouse, Henery," ses BillChambers; "it's easy for to see that the pore old gentleman is gettingpast things, and I shouldn't wonder if Bob Pretty don't make 'im leaveall 'is money to 'im."

  Henery Walker started raving ag'in, and for the next few days he triedhis 'ardest to get a few words with 'is great-uncle, but Bob Pretty wastoo much for 'im. Everybody in Claybury said wot a shame it was, but itwas all no good, and Henery Walker used to leave 'is work and standoutside Bob Pretty's for hours at a time in the 'opes of getting a wordwith the old man.

  He got 'is chance at last, in quite a unexpected way. We was up 'ere atthe "Cauliflower" one evening, and, as it 'appened, we was talking aboutHenery Walker's great-uncle, when the door opened, and who should walkin but the old gentleman 'imself. Everybody left off talking and staredat 'im, but he walked up to the bar and ordered a glass o' gin and beeras comfortable as you please.

  Bill Chambers was the fust to get 'is presence of mind back, and he setoff arter Henery Walker as fast as 'is legs could carry 'im, and in awunnerful short time, considering, he came back with' Henery, both of'em puffing and blowing their 'ardest.

  "There--he--is!" ses Bill Chambers, pointing to the old gentleman.

  Henery Walker gave one look, and then 'e slipped over to the old man andstood all of a tremble, smiling at 'im. "Good-evening," he ses.

  "Wot?" ses the old gentleman.

  "Good-evening!" ses Henery Walker ag'in.

  "I'm a bit deaf," ses the old gentleman, putting his 'and to his ear.

  "Good-evening!" ses Henery Walker ag'in, shouting. "I'm yourgrand-nephew, Henery Walker!"

  "Ho, are you?" ses the old gentleman, not at all surprised. "Bob Prettywas telling me all about you."

  "I 'ope you didn't listen to 'im," ses Henery, Walker, all of a tremble."Bob Pretty'd say anything except his prayers."

  "He ses you're arter my money," ses the old gentleman, looking at 'im.

  "He's a liar, then," ses Henery Walker; "he's arter it 'imself. And itain't a respectable place for you to stay at. Anybody'll tell you wot arascal Bob Pretty is. Why, he's a byword."

  "Everybody is arter my money," ses the old gentleman, looking round."Everybody."

  "I 'ope you'll know me better afore you've done with me, uncle," sesHenery Walker, taking a seat alongside of 'im. "Will you 'ave anothermug o' beer?"

  "Gin and beer," ses the old gentleman, cocking his eye up very fierce atSmith, the landlord; "and mind the gin don't get out ag'in, same as itdid in the last."

  Smith asked 'im wot he meant, but 'is deafness come on ag'in. HeneryWalker 'ad an extra dose o' gin put in, and arter he 'ad tasted it theold gentleman seemed to get more amiable-like, and 'im and Henery Walkersat by theirselves talking quite comfortable.

  "Why not come and stay with me?" ses Henery Walker, at last. "You can doas you please and have the best of everything."

  "Bob Pretty ses you're arter my money," ses the old gentleman, shakinghis 'ead. "I couldn't trust you."

  "He ses that to put you ag'in me," ses Henery Walker, pleading-like.

  "Well, wot do you want me to come and live with you for, then?" ses oldMr. Walker.

  "Because you're my great-uncle," ses Henery Walker, "and my 'ouse is theproper place for you. Blood is thicker than water."

  "And you don't want my money?" ses the old man, looking at 'im verysharp.

  "Certainly not," ses Henery Walker.

  "And 'ow much 'ave I got to pay a week?" ses old Mr. Walker. "That's thequestion?"

  "Pay?" ses Henery Walker, speaking afore he 'ad time to think. "Pay?Why, I don't want you to pay anything."

  The old gentleman said as 'ow he'd think it over, and Henery started totalk to 'im about his father and an old aunt named Maria, but 'e stopped'im sharp, and said he was sick and tired of the whole Walker family,and didn't want to 'ear their names ag'in as long as he lived. HeneryWalker began to talk about Australey then, and asked 'im 'ow many sheephe'd got, and the words was 'ardly out of 'is mouth afore the oldgentleman stood up and said he was arter his money ag'in.

  Henery Walker at once gave 'im some more gin and beer, and arter he 'addrunk it the old gentleman said that he'd go and live with 'im for alittle while to see 'ow he liked it.

  "But I sha'n't pay anything," he ses, very sharp; "mind that."

  "I wouldn't take it if you offered it to me," ses Henery Walker. "You'llcome straight 'ome with me to-night, won't you?"

  Afore old Mr. Walker could answer the door opened and in came BobPretty. He gave one look at Henery Walker and then he walked straightover to the old gentleman and put his 'and on his shoulder.

  "Why, I've been looking for you everywhere, Mr. Walker," he ses. "Icouldn't think wot had 'appened to you."

  "You needn't worry yourself, Bob," ses Henery Walker; "he's coming tolive with me now."

  "Don't you believe it," ses Bob Pretty, taking hold of old Mr. Walker bythe arm; "he's my lodger, and he's coming with me."

  He began to lead the old gentleman towards the door, but Henery Walker,wot was still sitting down, threw 'is arms round his legs and held 'imtight. Bob Pretty pulled one way and Henery Walker pulled the other, andboth of 'em shouted to each other to leave go. The row they made wasawful, but old Mr. Walker made more noise than the two of 'em puttogether.

  "You leave go o' my lodger," ses Bob Pretty.

  "You leave go o' my great-uncle--my dear great-uncle," ses HeneryWalker, as the old gentleman called 'im a bad name and asked 'im whetherhe thought he was made of iron.

  I believe they'd ha' been at it till closing-time, on'y Smith, thelandlord, came running in from the back and told them to go outside. He'ad to shout to make 'imself heard, and all four of 'em seemed to betrying which could make the most noise.

  "He's my lodger," ses Bob Pretty, "and he can't go without giving meproper notice; that's the lor--a week's notice."

  They all shouted ag'in then, and at last the old gentleman told HeneryWalker to give Bob Pretty ten shillings for the week's notice and ha'done with 'im. Henery Walker 'ad only got four shillings with 'im, but'e borrowed the rest from Smith, and arter he 'ad told Bob Pretty wot hethought of 'im he took old Mr. Walker by the arm and led him 'ome a'mostdancing for joy.

  Mrs. Walker was nearly as pleased as wot 'e was, and the fuss they madeof the old gentleman was sinful a'most. He 'ad to speak about it 'imselfat last, and he told 'em plain that when 'e wanted arf-a-dozen sore-eyedchildren to be brought down in their night-gowns to kiss 'im while hewas eating sausages, he'd say so.

  Arter that Mrs. Walker was afraid that 'e might object when her and her'usband gave up their bedroom to 'im; but he didn't. He took it all as'is right, and when Henery Walker, who was sleeping in the next roomwith three of 'is boys, fell out o' bed for the second time, he got upand rapped on the wall.

  Bob Pretty came round the next morning with a t tin box that belonged tothe old man, and 'e was so perlite and nice to 'im that Henery Walkercould see that he 'ad 'opes of getting 'im back ag'in. The box wascarried upstairs and put und
er old Mr. Walker's bed, and 'e was sopartikler about its being locked, and about nobody being about when 'eopened it, that Mrs. Walker went arf out of her mind with curiosity.

  "I s'pose you've looked to see that Bob Pretty didn't take anything outof it?" ses Henery Walker.

  "He didn't 'ave the chance," ses the old gentleman. "It's always kep'locked."

  "It's a box that looks as though it might 'ave been made in Australey,"ses Henery Walker, who was longing to talk about them parts.

  "If you say another word about Australey to me," ses old Mr. Walker,firing up, "off I go. Mind that! You're arter my money, and if you'renot careful you sha'n't 'ave a farthing of it."

  That was the last time the word "Australey" passed Henery Walker's lips,and even when 'e saw his great-uncle writing letters there he didn't sayanything. And the old man was so suspicious of Mrs. Walker's curiositythat all the letters that was wrote to 'im he 'ad sent to Bob Pretty's.He used to call there pretty near every morning to see whether any 'adcome for 'im.

  In three months Henery Walker 'adn't seen the color of 'is money once,and, wot was worse still, he took to giving Henery's things away. Mrs.Walker 'ad been complaining for some time of 'ow bad the hens had beenlaying, and one morning at breakfast-time she told her 'usband that,besides missing eggs, two of 'er best hens 'ad been stolen in the night.

  "They wasn't stolen," ses old Mr. Walker, putting down 'is teacup. "Itook 'em round this morning and give 'em to Bob Pretty."

  "Give 'em to Bob Pretty?" ses Henery Walker, arf choking. "Wot for?"

  "'Cos he asked me for 'em," ses the old gentleman. "Wot are you lookingat me like that for?"

  Henery couldn't answer 'im, and the old gentleman, looking very fierce,got up from the table and told Mrs. Walker to give 'im his hat. HeneryWalker clung to 'im with tears in his eyes a'most and begged 'im not togo, and arter a lot of talk old Mr. Walker said he'd look over it thistime, but it mustn't occur ag'in.

  Arter that 'e did as 'e liked with Henery Walker's things, and Henerydursen't say a word to 'im. Bob Pretty used to come up and flatter 'imand beg 'im to go back and lodge with 'im, and Henery was so afraid he'dgo that he didn't say a word when old Mr. Walker used to give Bob Prettythings to make up for 'is disappointment. He 'eard on the quiet fromBill Chambers, who said that the old man 'ad told it to Bob Pretty as adead secret, that 'e 'ad left 'im all his money, and he was ready to putup with anything.

  The old man must ha' been living with Henery Walker for over eighteenmonths when one night he passed away in 'is sleep. Henery knew that his'art was wrong, because he 'ad just paid Dr. Green 'is bill for sayingthat 'e couldn't do anything for 'im, but it was a surprise to 'im allthe same. He blew his nose 'ard and Mrs. Walker kept rubbing 'er eyeswith her apron while they talked in whispers and wondered 'ow much moneythey 'ad come in for?

  In less than ten minutes the news was all over Clay-bury, and arf thepeople in the place hanging round in front of the 'ouse waiting to hear'ow much the Walkers 'ad come in for. Henery Walker pulled the blind onone side for a moment and shook his 'ead at them to go away. Some ofthem did go back a yard or two, and then they stood staring at BobPretty, wot come up as bold as brass and knocked at the door.

  "Wot's this I 'ear?" he ses, when Henery Walker opened it. "You don'tmean to tell me that the pore old gentleman has really gone? I told 'imwot would happen if 'e came to lodge with you."

  "You be off," ses Henery Walker; "he hasn't left you anything."

  "I know that," ses Bob Pretty, shaking his 'ead. "You're welcome to it,Henery, if there is anything. I never bore any malice to you for takingof 'im away from us. I could see you'd took a fancy to 'im from thefust. The way you pretended 'e was your great-uncle showed me that."

  "Wot are you talking about?" ses Henery Walker. "He was my great-uncle!"

  "Have it your own way, Henery," ses Bob Pretty; "on'y, if you asked me,I should say that he was my wife's grandfather."

  "Your--wife's--grandfather?" ses Henery Walker, in a choking voice.

  He stood staring at 'im, stupid-like, for a minute or two, but hecouldn't get out another word. In a flash 'e saw 'ow he'd been done, andhow Bob Pretty 'ad been deceiving 'im all along, and the idea that he'ad arf ruined himself keeping Mrs. Pretty's grandfather for 'em prettynear sent 'im out of his mind.

  "But how is it 'is name was Josiah Walker, same as Henery'sgreat-uncle?" ses Bill Chambers, who 'ad been crowding round with theothers. "Tell me that!"

  "He 'ad a fancy for it," ses Bob Pretty, "and being a 'armless amusementwe let him 'ave his own way. I told Henery Walker over and over ag'inthat it wasn't his uncle, but he wouldn't believe me. I've got witnessesto it. Wot did you say, Henery?"

  Henery Walker drew 'imself up as tall as he could and stared at him.Twice he opened 'is mouth to speak but couldn't, and then he made a oddsort o' choking noise in his throat, and slammed the door in BobPretty's face.

  A LOVE-KNOT