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“Now it’s no use to tell me that, Miss Matty,” said Mrs Butts, with the memory of nursing days strong upon her. “You was always such a dear, thoughtless child! Don’t you remember that day when you waded in baby’s bath, an’ then said you wasn’t wet a bit, only a very little, an’ you rather liked it? Indeed she did: you needn’t laugh, Master Tom, I remember it as well as if it happened yesterday.”

“I don’t in the least doubt you, Mrs Butts,” said Tom, “I was only laughing at my sister’s idea of dryness. But you must not let us interrupt you in your cooking operations, else we will go away directly. Just go about it as if we were not here, for I have some business matters to talk over with your husband.”

“Go away?” echoed Mrs Butts; “you must not talk of going away till you’ve had a bite of lunch with us. It’s our dinner, you know, but lawks! what do it matter what you calls it so long as you’ve got it to eat? An’ there’s such a splendid apple dumplin’ in the pot, miss; you see, it’s Tommy’s birthday, for he was born on a Christmas Day, an’ he’s very fond of apple dumplin’, is Tommy.”

The six children, of various ages and sizes scattered about the small room, betrayed lively interest in this invitation–some hoping that it would be accepted; others as evidently hoping that it would be declined. As for Tommy, his fear that the dumpling would be too small for the occasion, filled his heart with anxiety that showed itself strongly in his face, but he was promptly relieved by Miss Matty assuring his mother that to stay was impossible, as they had other visits to pay that day.

Thus the lady and nurse chatted of past and present days, while Tom Westlake talked “business” with the dock-labourer.

“You seem to be getting on pretty comfortably now,” remarked Tom.

“Yes, sir, thank God I am. Ever since I was enabled to cry, `God be merciful to me a sinner,’ things ‘as gone well with me. An’ the puttin’ on o’ the blue ribbon, sir, ‘as done me a power o’ good. You see, before that I was sorely tempted by comrades offerin’ me a glass, and by my own wish to ‘ave a glass, but when I mounted the blue I was let alone, though they chaffed me now an’ then, an’ I felt it was no use thinkin’ about it, ‘owever much I might wish for it. The missus, bless ‘er ‘art, sewed a bit o’ blue on my night-shirt in fun, but d’ee know, sir, I do believe it’s that ‘as cured me o’ dreamin’ about it, as I used to do.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Butts,” said Tom, with a laugh. “Now, tell me; how long is it since you tasted strong drink?”

“Six months this very day, sir.”

“And are you satisfied that you are better without it?”

“Better without it, sir,” repeated Butts, with energy, “in course I am– better in body and better in soul, also in pocket. Of course you know, sir, we don’t carry on every day with such fires an’ dinners as we’re a-goin’ in for to-day–for Christmas on’y comes once a year, and sometimes we’ve been slack at the docks, an’ once or twice I’ve bin laid up, so that we’ve bin pinched a bit now an’ then, but we’ve bin able to make the two ends meet, and the older child’n is beginnin’ to turn in a penny now an’ again, so, you see, sir, though the fires ain’t always bright, an Jack Frost do manage to git in through the key ‘ole rather often just now, on the whole we’re pretty comfortable.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Butts; very glad to hear it indeed,” said Tom, “because I’m anxious to help you, and I make it a point only to help those who help themselves. Six months of steadiness goes a long way to prove that your craving for drink has been cured, and that your reformation is genuine; therefore, I am able now to offer you a situation as porter in a bank, which for some time I have kept open on purpose to be ready for you. How will that suit you–eh?”