er the same counter. Mr. and Mrs. Batterby
were dismissed, and quite a new order of things began. Not only were
the ladies zealous for a high ideal in the matter of soup-distributing,
they also aimed at practical economy in the use of funds. Having
engaged a cook after their own hearts, and acting upon the advice of
competent physiologists, they proceeded to make a 'stock' out of
sheep's and bullocks' heads; moreover, they ordered their peas from the
City, thus getting them at two shillings a sack less than the price
formerly paid by the Batterbys to a dealer in Clerkenwell. But, alas!
these things could not be done secretly; the story leaked out;
Shooter's Gardens and vicinity broke into the most excited feeling. I
need not tell you that the nether world will consume--when others
supply it--nothing but the very finest quality of food, that the heads
of sheep and bullocks are peculiarly offensive to its stomach, that a
saving effected on sacks of peas outrages its dearest sensibilities.
What was the result? Shooter's Gardens, convinced of the fraud
practised upon them, nobly brought back their quarts of soup to the
kitchen, and with proud independence of language demanded to have their
money returned. On being met with a refusal, they--what think
you?--emptied the soup on to the floor, and went away with heads
exalted.

Vast was the indignation of Miss Lant and the other ladies. 'This is
their gratitude!' Now if you or I had been there, what an opportunity
for easing our minds! 'Gratitude, mesdames? You have entered upon this
work with expectation of gratitude?--And can you not perceive that
these people of Shooter's Gardens are poor, besotted, disease-struck
creatures, of whom--in the mass--scarcely a human quality is to be
expected? Have you still to learn what this nether world has been made
by those who belong to the sphere above it?--Gratitude, quotha?--Nay,
do _you_ be grateful that these hapless, half-starved women do not turn
and rend you. At present they satisfy themselves with insolence. Take
it silently, you who at all events hold some count of their dire state;
and endeavour to feed them without arousing their animosity!'

Well, the kitchen threatened to be a failure. It turned out that the
cheaper peas were, in fact, of inferior quality, and the ladies
hastened to go back to the dealer in Clerkenwell. This was something,
but now came a new trouble; the complaint with which Mr. and Mrs.
Batterby had known