“Go on!” he breathed.  “Go on!  Don’t mind me.  What, you—­you—­you’re not going to church?”

Mrs. Vickers glanced at the books in her hand—­also new—­and trembled.

“And why not?” demanded Selina.  “Why shouldn’t we?”

Mr. Vickers took another amazed glance round and his brow darkened.

“Where did you get the money?” he inquired.

“Saved it,” said his daughter, reddening despite herself.

“Saved it?” repeated the justly-astonished Mr. Vickers.  “Saved it?  Ah! out of my money; out of the money I toil and moil for—­out of the money that ought to be spent on food.  No wonder you’re always complaining that it ain’t enough.  I won’t ’ave it, d’ye hear?  I’ll have my rights; I’ll——­”

“Don’t make so much noise,” said his daughter, who was stooping down to ease one of Mrs. Vickers’s boots.  “You would have fours, mother, and I told you what it would be.”

“He said that I ought to wear threes by rights,” said Mrs. Vickers; “I used to.”

“And I s’pose,” said Mr. Vickers, who had been listening to these remarks with considerable impatience—­“I s’pose there’s a bran’ new suit o’ clothes, and a pair o’ boots, and ’arf-a-dozen shirts, and a new hat hid upstairs for me?”

“Yes, they’re hid all right,” retorted the dutiful Miss Vickers.  “You go upstairs and amuse yourself looking for’em.  Go and have a game of ’hot boiled beans’ all by yourself.”

“Why, you must have been stinting me for years,” continued Mr. Vickers, examining the various costumes in detail.  “This is what comes o’ keeping quiet and trusting you—­not but what I’ve ’ad my suspicions.  My own kids taking the bread out o’ my mouth and buying boots with it; my own wife going about in a bonnet that’s took me weeks and weeks to earn.”

[Illustration:"‘Why, you must have been stinting me for years,’ continued Mr. Vickers.”]

His words fell on deaf ears.  No adjutant getting his regiment ready for a march-past could have taken more trouble than Miss Vickers was taking at this moment over her small company.  Caps were set straight and sleeves pulled down.  Her face shone with pride and her eyes glistened as the small fry, discoursing in excited whispers, filed stiffly out.

A sudden cessation of gossip in neighbouring doorways testified to the impression made by their appearance.  Past little startled groups the procession picked its way in squeaking pride, with Mrs. Vickers and Selina bringing up the rear.  The children went by with little set, important faces; but Miss Vickers’s little bows and pleased smiles of recognition to acquaintances were so lady-like that several untidy matrons retired inside their houses to wrestle grimly with feelings too strong for outside display.

“Pack o’ prancing peacocks,” said the unnatural Mr. Vickers, as the procession wound round the corner.

He stood looking vacantly up the street until the gathering excitement of his neighbours aroused new feelings.  Vanity stirred within him, and leaning casually against the door-post he yawned and looked at the chimney-pots opposite.  A neighbour in a pair of corduroy trousers, supported by one brace worn diagonally, shambled across the road.