“Have an arm, sir? If you don’t mind I’ll walk down with you. Little commission for mother,—nice day, isn’t it?”

Tom rather broke down at the end of his speech, for the look of pleased surprise with which his father greeted him, the alacrity with which he accepted and leaned on the strong arm offered him, proved that the daily walks had been solitary and doubtless sad ones. I think Mr. Shaw understood the real meaning of that little act of respect, felt better for the hopeful change it seemed to foretell. But he took it quietly, and leaving his face to speak for him, merely said,—

“Thanky, Tom, yes; mother will enjoy her dinner twice as much if you order it.”

Then they began to talk business with all their might, as if they feared that some trace of sentiment might disgrace their masculine dignity. But it made no difference whether they discussed lawsuits or love, mortgages or mothers, the feeling was all right, and they knew it, so Mr. Shaw walked straighter than usual, and Tom felt that he was in his proper place again. The walk was not without its trials, however; for while it did Tom’s heart good to see the cordial respect paid to his father, it tried his patience sorely to see also inquisitive or disapproving glances fixed upon himself when hats were lifted to his father, and to hear the hearty “Good day, Mr. Shaw”, drop into cool or careless, “That’s the son; it’s hard on him. Wild fellow, do him good”.

“Granted; but you needn’t hit a man when he’s down,” muttered Tom to himself, feeling every moment a stronger desire to so something that should silence everybody. “I’d cut away to Australia if it wasn’t for mother; anything, anywhere to get out of the way of people who know me. I never can right myself here, with all the fellows watching, and laying wagers whether I sink or swim. Hang Greek and Latin! wish I’d learned a trade, and had something to fall back upon. Haven’t a blessed thing now, but decent French and my fists. Wonder if old Bell don’t want a clerk for the Paris branch of the business? That wouldn’t be bad; faith, I’ll try it.”

And when Tom had landed his father safely at the office, to the great edification of all beholders, he screwed up his courage, and went to prefer his request, feeling that the prospect brightened a little. But Mr. Bell was not in a good humour, and only gave Tom a severe lecture on the error of his ways, which sent him home much depressed, and caused the horizon to lower again.

As he roamed about the house that afternoon, trying to calculate how much an Australian outfit would cost, the sound of lively voices and clattering spoons attracted him to the kitchen. There he found Polly giving Maud lessons in cookery; for the “new help” not being a high-priced article, could not be depended on for desserts, and Mrs. Shaw would have felt as if the wolf was at the door if there was not “a sweet dish” at dinner. Maud had a genius for cooking, and Fanny hated it, so that little person was in her glory, studying receipt books, and taking lessons whenever Polly could give them.

“Gracious me, Tom, don’t come now; we are awful busy! Men don’t belong in kitchens,” cried Maud, as her brother appeared in the doorway.

“Couldn’t think what you were about. Mum is asleep, and Fan out, so I loafed down to see if there was any fun afoot,” said Tom, lingering, as if the prospect was agreeable. He was a social fellow, and very grateful just then to anyone who helped him to forget his worries for a time. Polly knew this, felt that his society would not be a great affliction to herself, at least, and whispering to Maud, “He won’t know,” she added, aloud,—

“Come in, if you like, and stir this cake for me; it needs a strong hand, and mine are tired. There, put on that apron to keep you tidy, sit here, and take it easy.”

“I used to help grandma bat up cake, and rather liked it, if I remember right,” said Tom, letting Polly tie a checked apron on him, put a big bowl into his hands, and settle him near a table, where Maud was picking raisins, and she herself stirring busily about among spice-boxes, rollingpins, and butter-pots.