AN UNWELCOME VISITOR.
Tom came slowly down, and went into the back parlour to his tea, but he had only just seated himself when there came a knock at the door. Tom did not as a rule trouble himself about who came to the street door, and why this particular knock should make him start and tremble he could not tell, but his hand shook so, as he lifted his teacup, that he was obliged to put it down again, and listen to what was going on at the end of the passage.
"Your name is Flowers, I believe?" he heard a gruff voice say.
And his aunt replied in her stiffest tones, "Yes, it is, what do you want?"
"Well, it's a little business I have to see your husband about—has he come in yet? The lad who lives here has, I know, for I saw him as I came along."
"Yes, and you can see him again. Tom!" she called, coming down the passage as she spoke.
Tom could have wished he was deaf just then, but it was of no use to pretend that he did not hear, though he was only just dragging himself out of the chair when his aunt appeared at the door.
"Did you hear me call you, Tom?" she said, looking at him very suspiciously.
"Yes, I'm coming. Who wants me?" he said, trying to speak indifferently.