“That’s all very well for a tale,” Ellen replied, “but you’re not going to tell me that he’s come into these ways naturally.”

“What ways?” Burton exclaimed.  “My dear Ellen, you must be a little more explicit.  I tell you that I have not seen the child since I was at Garden Green.  I am utterly ignorant of anything which may have happened to him.”

Ellen remained entirely unconvinced.

“There’s things about,” she declared, “which I don’t understand nor don’t want to.  First of all you go dotty.  Now the same sort of thing seems to have come to little Alf, and what I want to know is what you mean by it?  It’s all rubbish for you to expect me to believe that he’s taken to this naturally.”

Burton put his hand to his head for a moment.

“Go on,” he said.  “Unless you tell me what has happened to Alfred, I cannot even attempt to help you.”

“Well, I’ll tell you fast enough,” Ellen assured him, “though you needn’t take that for a proof that I believe what you say.  He’s been a changed child ever since you were down last.  Came home from the school and complained about the other boys not washing properly.  Wanted a bath every day, and made me buy him a new toothbrush.  Brushes his hair and washes his hands every time he goes out.  Took a dislike to his tie and burned it.  Plagued me to death till I got him a new suit of clothes—­plain, ugly things, too, he would have.  He won’t have nothing to do with his friends, chucked playing marbles or hopscotch, and goes out in the country, picking flowers.  Just to humor him, the first lot he brought home I put in one of those vases that ma brought us from Yarmouth, and what do you think he did?—­threw the vase out of the window and bought with his own pocket money a plain china bowl.”

Burton listened in blank amazement.  As yet the light had not come.

“Go on,” he murmured.  “Anything else?”

“Up comes his master a few days ago,” Ellen continued.  “Fairly scared me to death.  Said the boy showed signs of great talent in drawing.  Talent in drawing, indeed!  I’ll give him talent!  Wanted me to have him go to night school and pay for extra lessons.  Said he thought the boy would turn out an artist.  Nice bit of money there is in that!”

“What did you tell him?” Burton asked.

“I told him to stop putting silly ideas into the child’s head,” Ellen replied.  “We don’t want to make no artist of Alfred.  Into an office he’s got to go as soon as he’s passed his proper standard, and that’s what I told his schoolmaster.  Calling Alf a genius, indeed!”

“Is this all that’s troubling you?” Burton inquired calmly.

“All?” Ellen cried.  “Bless my soul, as though it wasn’t enough!  A nice harmless boy as ever was until that day that you came down.  You don’t seem to understand.  He’s like a little old man.  Chooses his words, corrects my grammar, keeps himself so clean you can almost smell the soap.  What I say is that it isn’t natural in a child of his age.”