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uncorking one of the bottles of claret held in reserve as he narrated the taking of a privateer along the dangerous coast of Coromandel. He told the tale with the same keen spirit he had shown in telling of the battle with the grabs.
    Somehow I managed to do the washing up, or most of it, for I left some for the morning. And as I dragged past the dining room, I heard them talking still, Sir John joining his voice with Tom’s to question him on some matter of armament, or other such. These were stories Sir John was eager to hear. I had never known him to be so completely in the thrall of another as listener.
    At this distance in time, near thirty years it is as I write this, it seems strange to consider that a matter which caused greater controversy and contention than any of Sir John Fielding’s inquiries should have begun thus, with domestic matters and family considerations — a dinner in celebration and welcome. But it is so that we can none of us tell when or how the great events in our lives will begin, nor if, once they have transpired, they will affect us for good or ill. There can be no doubt but that Sir John himself was deeply touched by the series of happenings that began that day so modestly. He spoke of them ever afterward with great bitterness. Yet in my view, if he lost something, he gained much, as well, for we must always count it a gain when we are given the chance to look upon our lives, take stock, and consider what of our past we should put aside.

TWO
In which friendships
are renewed and
tested

    I know not the time Tom Durham retired, yet when I woke next morning, I found him my bedmate. Having no need to waken him, I sHpped quietly from beneath the quih, dressed hurriedly, and silently left the room, leaving the door ajar behind me. In all probability I need not have been so careful, for my bed companion slept as sound as any man slept this side the grave.
    Yet I continued quiet down the stairs, shoes in hand, making my way on tiptoe. Most days I was the first up and about. It was my regular duty to set the oven fire for Mrs. Gredge. Due to her sudden incapacity, which was confirmed by the sounds of labored breathing that issued from her room, I had decided that morning to cook breakfast for the household in her stead. Yet who should I find in command of the kitchen but Lady Fielding? She scurried about most efficient, doing all that needed be done in the cause of breakfast. From her progress, it seemed to me she must have been at work near an hour.
    “Am I so tardy rising?” I asked, as I stood before her, rubbing my eyes.” What is the hour?”
    “No, no,” said she, “nothing of the kind. I was early awake and thought to make myself useful, merely —as you did last night.”
    “Ma’am?”
    “The washing up, I mean.”
    “Oh, well, that,” said I, with a shrug.” I do that always for Mrs. Gredge.”
    “I, for one, was most grateful to find the job done. ‘ Then she clapped her hands in her manner of command: “But sit, Jeremy. Eat your porridge. Have a cup of tea. Then, if you will, you may take a tray to our ailing cook.”
    So sit I did and ate my fill, as well. She Fed me bread and porridge, with a dollop of butter for each. And when she put a cup of tea before me, she poured another for herself and sat down at the table to watch me eat. It seemed a curious thing to do. Though it caused me some slight embarrassment, it clearly gave her pleasure.
    “This porridge is ever so good,” said I, thinking to flatter her labors.
    “Oh, come now, Jeremy. Porridge is but porridge. You may butter it and salt it, both of which I have done —but there is little more that can be done to lend it savor.” Yet then she added, relenting, “But I vow it is a pleasure to see you eat it with such relish. It was just so that my young Tom used to do not so long ago.” She sighed.” He is not my young Tom now.”
    “Is he so much changed?”
    She bobbed her head most decisively.” Indeed he