As they retraced their steps the uncertain notes of Ted’s concertina came floating after them, borne upon the evening breeze; gradually these shaped themselves into a tune, a tune which their incredulous ears were at last forced to identify.  Joe Lovelady suddenly paused and threw out his hand.

“’Ark, all on ye, ‘ark at that!  Do ye know the tune th’ owd lad’s hammerin’ at?”

They all paused, holding their breaths; and then shouts of laughter broke the stillness.

Radical Ted was playing God Save the Queen.

HEATHER IN HOLBORN

“I can scarce fancy her living here,” said the man, pausing half-way up the stairs to look upwards at the dusty length which remained to be traversed.  “Nay, she could never live here.  I’m come on a fool’s errand, but I may as well see it through.”

His tall, broad-shouldered figure disappeared behind another angle, and halted at length on the fifth floor.  On the door facing him a name was neatly painted:—­Mr. Whiteside.

“’Tis a Lancashire name, right enough,” he said, “but there weren’t any Whitesides in our part when I was a lad.  It’ll be some stranger as our Molly took up with—­well, let’s go for’ard.”

His tap was answered by a fresh-coloured woman, neatly clad in a stuff gown.  The man surveyed her with a curious searching look, and she stared back at him.

“What was you pleased to want, sir?” she inquired at length, growing uncomfortable under his scrutiny.  “Mr. Whiteside—­that’s my husband—­is out.”

“Does Mrs. Rigby live here?  No, I’m sure she does not—­I beg your pardon—­it is a mistake.”

“No, sir, no mistake at all; it’s quite right.  Mrs. Rigby does live here—­she’s my mother.”

The stranger again darted a swift, eager glance at her.

“Right,” he said.  “I’ll come in; I want to see her.”

Mrs. Whiteside hesitated for a moment.  “My mother doesn’t often have visitors,” she said.  “We’ve been here more nor ten year now, and nobody’s ever come lookin’ for her.”

“I’ve come a long way to look for her,” said the man; “I’ve come from Australia.  I’m bringing her news of her son Will.”

“Eh dear!” cried the woman, clapping her hands together, “ye don’t say so!  My word, mother will be pleased.  We didn’t know rightly whether he were alive or dead.  Tis twenty-five year or more since he left home.  Tisn’t bad news I hope, mester?” she added anxiously, for the brown face, as much of it as could be seen under the thick dark beard, wore a troubled look.

“Bad news?  No,” returned he with a gruff laugh.  “It wouldn’t matter much anyway, would it? seein’ as you’d lost sight of him for so long, and by all accounts he wasn’t worth much at the best o’ times.”

“He’s my brother,” said Mrs. Whiteside shortly.  “Will ye please to step in, sir?”

He followed her into a narrow passage, and thence into an odd, little three-cornered room; a room furnished in mahogany and green rep, with a few brightly-bound books on the shining round table in the centre, framed oleographs on the walls, stuffed birds in glass cases on the mantel-piece, and a pervading odour of paraffin.