s for borrowing of the clerk. Harold was really frightened,
for he _had_ dawdled much more than he ought of late, and though he
sometimes fancied himself sick of the whole post business, a complaint to
his mother would be a dreadful matter. It put everything else out of his
head; and he ran off in great haste to get the money from Betsey Hardman,
knocking loud at her green door.

What a cloud of steamy heat the room was, with the fire glowing like a
red furnace, and five black irons standing up before it; and
clothes-baskets full of heaps of whiteness, and horses with vapoury webs
of lace and cambric hanging on them; and the three ironing-boards, where
smoothness ran along with the irons; and the heaps of folded clothes; and
Betsey in her white apron, broad and red in the midst of her maidens!

'Ha! Harold King! Well, to be sure, you are a stranger! Don't come
nigh that there hoss; it's Mrs. Parnell's best pocket-handkerchiefs, real
Walencines!' (she meant Valenciennes.) 'If you'll just run up and see
Mother, I'll have it out of the way, and we'll have a cup of tea.'

'Thank you, but I--'

'My! What a smoke ye're in! Take care, or I shall have 'em all to do
over again. Go up to Mother, do, like a good lad.'

'I can't, Betsey; I must go home.'

'Ay! that's the way. Lads never can sit down sensible and comfortable!
it's all the same--'

'I wanted,' said Harold, interrupting her, 'to ask you to lend me
sixpence. Pony's cast a shoe, and I had to leave her with the smith.'

'Ay? Who did you leave her with?'

'The first I came to, up in Wood Street.'

'Myers. Ye shouldn't have done that. His wife's the most stuck-up proud
body I ever saw--wears steel petticoats, I'll answer for it. You should
have gone to Charles Shaw.'

'Can't help it,' said Harold. 'Please, Betsey, let me have the sixpence;
I'll pay you faithfully to-morrow!'

'Ay! that's always the way. Never come in unless ye want somewhat.
'Twasn't the way your poor father went on! He'd a civil word for every
one. Well, and can't you stop a minute to say how your poor brother is?'

'Much the same,' said Harold impatiently.

'Yes, he'll never be no better, poor thing! All decliny; as I says to
Mother, what a misfortune it is upon poor Cousin King! they'll all go
off, one after t'other, just like innocents to the slaughter.'

This was not a cheerful prediction; and Harold petulantly said he must
get back, and begged for the sixpence. H