He smoothed his hair with the palms of his hands, pulled up his shirt-collar, and followed the messenger with an odd mixture of pride and reluctance.  It was no doubt highly gratifying to be thus honoured before all his former mates, but he was conscious of a secret yearning to sit down once more in the old place, and munch his allotted portion of bread and cheese with a friend at either elbow.

The matron received him cordially.

“Come in, Mr. Maine, and sit down; I am glad to have an opportunity of chatting with you.  It would never do for you to have tea with the others now, you know.”

“No, to be sure,” agreed Giles blankly.

“Well, and how are you, Mr. Maine?  Most comfortable and happy, Mrs. Tapper tells me.”

“’E-es, mum,” returned Giles mournfully.

“Sugar and milk, Mr. Maine?”

“Thankee, mum, I likes it best pure naked.  I’d be thankful to ’ee, mum, if ye wouldn’t call me Mr. Maine; it don’t seem naitral like.”

“Perhaps not,” agreed the matron, with a kindly laugh.  “Well, Giles—­I’ll say Giles, then—­Giles, do you know that you are quite a remarkable person?  They have been writing about you in the papers.  ’A lucky pauper,’ they call you.”

“Have they now, mum?” returned Maine, staring at her over the rim of his cup.

“Yes, indeed, and people have been writing to me to know the particulars.  ’Tis not often, you see, such a stroke of good fortune befalls an inmate of the Union.”

“I s’pose not,” he agreed, between two gulps of tea.

The matron continued to speak in this congratulatory vein while the old man ate and drank; but though he occasionally muttered a word or two which would seem to endorse her statements, his countenance was far from wearing the joyful self-satisfied expression which she had anticipated.

All at once he pushed away plate and cup.

“Mum,” he said, “if I mid make so bold I’d like to say summat.  I’ve been a-thinkin’—­couldn’t I come back here?”

“Here!” echoed she in astonishment.  “Here! to the workhouse?”

Giles nodded.

“Why, are you not happy at Mrs. Tapper’s?”

“’E—­es, oh, ‘e—­es, I haven’t got no fault to find wi’ she nor naught; but I—­I’d like the Union best.”

“Well, but you see, my dear Giles, the Union is meant for people who cannot live anywhere else.  You have got plenty of money now, and—­”

“I’d be willin’ to pay,” said Giles.

“Good gracious!” exclaimed the matron.

The old man looked at her stolidly, but made no further remark.

“I’m sure I don’t know what to say,” she went on, after a pause.  “I don’t suppose such a thing has ever been heard of—­I’m sure the guardians would never allow it.”

“I’d pay handsome,” said Giles.  “You ax ’em, mum.”

“Well, I will if you like; but don’t you think you are very foolish?  There you are, a man of property, who can hold up your head with the best, and pay your way, and you want to come back here among a lot of miserable paupers.”