father's
return. John had a kiss and a caress for each of them; then he stepped
to the bed and looked at his latest born. The baby was moaning feebly;
he spoke no word to it, and on turning away glanced about the room
absently. In the meantime his wife had taken some clothing from a chest
of drawers, and at length he was persuaded to go into the other room
and change. When he returned, the meal was ready. It consisted of a
scrap of cold steak, left over from yesterday, and still upon the
original dish amid congealed fat; a spongy half-quartern loaf, that
species of baker's bread of which a great quantity can be consumed with
small effect on the appetite; a shapeless piece of something purchased
under the name of butter, dabbed into a shallow basin; some pickled
cabbage in a tea-cup; and, lastly, a pot of tea, made by adding a
teaspoonful or two to the saturated leaves which had already served at
breakfast and mid-day. This repast was laid on a very dirty cloth. The
cups were unmatched and chipped, the knives were in all stages of
decrepitude; the teapot was of dirty tin, with a damaged spout.

Sidney began to affect cheerfulness. He took little Annie on one of his
knees, and Tom on the other. The mature Amy presided. Hewett ate the
morsel of meat, evidently without thinking about it; he crumbled a
piece of bread, and munched mouthfuls in silence. Of the vapid liquor
called tea he drank cup after cup.

'What's the time?' he asked at length. 'Where's Clara?'

'I daresay she's doin' overtime,' replied his wife. 'She won't be much
longer.'

The man was incapable of remaining in one spot for more than a few
minutes. Now he went to look at the baby; now he stirred the fire; now
he walked across the room aimlessly. He was the embodiment of worry. As
soon as the meal was over, Amy, Annie, and Tom were sent off to bed.
They occupied the second room, together with Clara; Bob shared the bed
of a fellow-workman upstairs. This was great extravagance, obviously;
other people would have made two rooms sufficient for all, and many
such families would have put up with one. But Hewett had his ideas of
decency, and stuck to them with characteristic wilfulness.

'Where do you think I've been this afternoon?' John began, when the
three little ones were gone, and Mrs. Hewett had been persuaded to lie
down upon the bed. 'Walked to Enfleld an' back. I was told of a job out
there; but it's no good; they're full up. They say exercise is goo