The old man spoke again:
“The Society looked into our case; ’ere’s their letter. Owin’ to my not ’avin’ any savin’s, we weren’t thought fit for bein’ ’elped, so they says ’ere. All my savin’s is gone this year or more; what could I save, with six children?”
“Father couldn’t save; ’e did ’is duty by them—’e couldn’t save. We’ve not been in the ’abit of askin’ people, sir; wouldn’t do such a thing—couldn’t!”
“Well! You see they’ve made a start with old-age pensions?”
The old man slowly answered:
“I ’eard something—I don’t trouble about politics.”
“Father never was one for the public-’ouse, sir; never.”
“But you used to have a vote, of course?”
A smile came on his lips, and faded; and in that smile, not even ironical, he passed judgment on the centuries that had left him where he was.
“I never bothered about them. I let that alone!”