[Illustration:  “A return visit.”]

“Good evenin’, Teddy,” he said, breezily, with a side-glance at his hostess.  “What a lovely day we’ve ’ad.”

“So bright,” said Mrs. Silk, nodding with spirit.

Mr. Wilks sat down and gave vent to such a cheerful laugh that the ornaments on the mantelpiece shook with it.  “It’s good to be alive,” he declared.

“Ah, you enjoy your life, Mr. Wilks,” said the widow.

“Enjoy it!” roared Mr. Wilks; “enjoy it!  Why shouldn’t I?  Why shouldn’t everybody enjoy their lives?  It was what they was given to us for.”

“So they was,” affirmed Mrs. Silk; “nobody can deny that; not if they try.”

“Nobody wants to deny it, ma’am,” retorted Mr. Wilks, in the high voice he kept for cheering-up purposes.  “I enjoy every day o’ my life.”

He filled his pipe, chuckling serenely, and having lit it sat and enjoyed that.  Mrs. Silk retired for a space, and returning with a jug of ale poured him out a glass and set it by his elbow.

“Here’s your good ’ealth, ma’am,” said Mr. Wilks, raising it.  “Here’s yours, Teddy—­a long life and a ’appy one.”

Mr. Silk turned listlessly.  “I don’t want a long life,” he remarked.

His mother and her visitor exchanged glances.

“That’s ’ow ’e goes on,” remarked the former, in an audible whisper.  Mr. Wilks nodded, reassuringly.

“I ’ad them ideas once,” he said, “but they go off.  If you could only live to see Teddy at the age o’ ninety-five, ’e wouldn’t want to go then.  ’E’d say it was crool hard, being cut off in the flower of ’is youth.”

Mrs. Silk laughed gaily and Mr. Wilks bellowed a gruff accompaniment.  Mr. Edward Silk eyed them pityingly.

“That’s the ’ardship of it,” he said, slowly, as he looked round from his seat by the fireplace; “that’s where the ’ollowness of things comes in.  That’s where I envy Mr. Wilks.”

“Envy me?” said the smiling visitor; “what for?”

“Because you’re so near the grave,” said Mr. Silk.

Mr. Wilks, who was taking another draught of beer, put the glass down and eyed him fixedly.

“That’s why I envy you,” continued the other.

“I don’t want to live, and you do, and yet I dessay I shall be walking about forty and fifty years after you’re dead and forgotten.”

“Wot d’ye mean—­near the grave?” inquired

Mr. Wilks, somewhat shortly.

“I was referring to your age,” replied the other; “it’s strange to see ’ow the aged ’ang on to life.  You can’t ’ave much pleasure at your time o’ life.  And you’re all alone; the last withered branch left.”

“Withered branch!” began Mr. Wilks; “’ere, look ’ere, Teddy——­”

“All the others ’ave gone,” pursued Mr. Silk, and they’re beckoning to you.”

“Let ’em beckon,” said Mr. Wilks, coldly.  “I’m not going yet.”

“You’re not young,” said Mr. Silk, gazing meditatively at the grate, “and I envy you that.  It can only be a matter of a year or two at most before you are sleeping your last long sleep.”