“I don’t wonder at it,” said the offended Mr. Kybird.

“And the banns go up next week,” murmured the boarding-master to himself.  “Well, well.”

“’Ave you got anything to say agin it?” demanded Mr. Kybird.

“Cert’nly not,” replied the other.  “On’y don’t blame me when it’s too late; that’s all.”

Mr. Kybird, staring at him wrathfully, turned this dark saying over in his mind.  “Too late for wot?” he inquired.

“Ah!” said Nathan Smith, slowly.  “Nice and fresh after the rain, ain’t it?  As I come along all the little dickey-birds—­”

“Drat the little dickey-birds,” interrupted Mr. Kybird, with sudden violence.  “If you’ve got anything to say, why don’t you say it like a man?”

[Illustration:  “If you’ve got anything to say, why don’t you say it like a man?”]

The parlour door opened suddenly before the other could reply, and revealed the face of Mrs. Kybird.  “Wot are you two a-quarrelling about?” she demanded.  “Why don’t you come inside and sit down for a bit?”

Mr. Smith accepted the invitation, and following her into the room found Miss Kybird busy stitching in the midst of a bewildering assortment of brown paper patterns and pieces of cloth.  Mrs. Kybird gave him a chair, and, having overheard a portion of his conversation with her husband, made one or two casual inquiries.

“I’ve been spending a hour or two at Mr. Swann’s,” said Mr. Smith.

“And ’ow is ’e?” inquired his hostess, with an appearance of amiable interest.

The boarding-master shook his head. “’E’s slipping ’is cable,” he said, slowly. “’E’s been making ‘is will, and I was one o’ the witnesses.”

Something in Mr. Smith’s manner as he uttered this simple statement made his listeners anxious to hear more.  Mr. Kybird, who had just entered the room and was standing with his back to the door holding the handle, regarded him expectantly.

“It’s been worrying ’im some time,” pursued Mr. Smith. “’E ’asn’t got nobody belonging to ’im, and for a long time ’e couldn’t think ’ow to leave it.  Wot with ’ouse property and other things it’s a matter of over ten thousand pounds.”

“Good ’eavens!” said Mr. Kybird, who felt that he was expected to say something.

“Dr. Blaikie was the other witness,” continued Mr. Smith, disregarding the interruption; “and Mr. Swann made us both promise to keep it a dead secret till ‘e’s gone, but out o’ friendship to you I thought I’d step round and let you know.”

The emphasis on the words was unmistakable; Mrs. Kybird dropped her work and sat staring at him, while her husband wriggled with excitement.

“’E ain’t left it to me, I s’pose?” he said, with a feeble attempt at jocularity.

“Not a brass farden,” replied his friend, cheerfully.  “Not to none of you.  Why should ’e?

“He ain’t left it to Jack, I s’pose?” said Miss Kybird, who had suspended her work to listen.