Joan shot a glance. The girl was evidently serious. “Tell me,” she said. “If it had been the photo of a woman with a bony throat and a beaky nose would you have read them?”!

“Oh, it’s only what’s known all over the neighbourhood,” continued the girl. “She’s had a pretty rough time with him. Twice I’ve found her getting ready to go to sleep for the night by sitting on the bare floor with her back against the wall. Had sold every stick in the place and gone off. But she’d always some excuse for him. It was sure to be half her fault and the other half he couldn’t help. Now she’s got her ‘reward’ according to her own account. Heard he was dying in a doss-house, and must fetch him home and nurse him back to life. Seems he’s getting fonder of her every day. Now that he can’t do anything else.” “Yes,” she answered. “Will you be coming alone?”

“Tell me,” she said. “If it had been the photo of a woman with a bony throat and a beaky nose would you have read them?” “Don’t give me ideas above my station,” laughed Joan. “I’m a journalist.” The cawing of the rooks grew fainter. One by one they folded their wings.