ren
sometimes,' he mumbled. 'Or at all events, I hope they can come and see
you.'

'Shall you still work at the same shop?' Totty asked, paying no
attention to the last remark.

'Yes, for a bit at all events.'

'Why don't you start a shop of your own, Mr. Bunce?' she next inquired,
as if a happy idea had struck her.

'I shouldn't mind doing that,' he answered, with a hard laugh. 'But
shops can't be had for the wishing.'

'You don't need a big one. Now like that shop in Duke Street, you know.
What's the rent of a place like that?'

'I'm sure I don't know. I suppose it goes with the house.'

'Then what's the rent of the house likely to be? You could let all you
didn't want, you know, and that 'ud almost pay the rent, I should
think.'

He laughed again.

'What's the good of talking about it? Why there's a little locksmith's
and ironmonger's shop to let in that street just off the far end of
Lambeth Walk. They're selling off now; I'm going to buy a few things
to-morrow. But what's the good of thinking about it?'

'I don't know. What's the rent?'

'Not more than forty pounds, house and all, I dare say. A mate of mine
was talking about it. He said he wished he'd a couple of hundred pounds
to take it and start. The man's dead, and his wife wanted to sell the
business, but she can't get an offer.'

The meeting which Jack was attending had began to sing a hymn. The
voices, harmonised by distance, sounded pleasantly.

'I like that hymn-tune, Mr. Bunce,' said Totty, 'don't you?'

'I don't think much about hymns, Miss Nancarrow.'

'Well, you might say you like it.'

'I do, to tell the truth--so long as I can't hear the words.'

'I don't care nothing about the words, either. So we agree about
something, at all events.'

'I don't think we've differed about many things, have we?'

She looked at him frankly, and smiled. Then she said:

'Oh, you used to be a bit afraid of me, I know. Shall I tell you what
it was made us real friends? It was when you burnt your hand, and I did
it up for you.'

Bunce now returned her look, and his swarthy cheeks reddened. His eyes
fell again.

'You behaved very kindly,' he said in a half-ashamed way. 'I don't
forget, and I'm not likely ever to. And I shan't forget all you've done
for the children, either. I don't think there's any one living I've
more to thank for than you.'

'The idea.'

'Well, it's true.'

'But look here, Mr. Bunce. About that shop. Suppose you had two