roken. On these dead frontages
could be traced the marks of climbing plants, which once hung their leaves
about each doorway; dry fragments of the old stem still adhered to the
stucco. What had been the narrow strip of fore-garden, railed from the
pavement, was now a little wilderness of coarse grass, docks, nettles, and
degenerate shrubs. The paint on the doors had lost all colour, and much of
it was blistered off; the three knockers had disappeared, leaving
indications of rough removal, as if--which was probably the case--they had
fallen a prey to marauders. Standing full in the brilliant sunshine, this
spectacle of abandonment seemed sadder, yet less ugly, than it would have
looked under a gloomy sky. Goldthorpe began to weave stories about its
musty squalor. He crossed the road to make a nearer inspection; and as he
stood gazing at the dishonoured thresholds, at the stained and cracked
boarding of the blind windows, at the rusty paling and the broken gates,
there sounded from somewhere near a thin, shaky strain of music, the notes
of a concertina played with uncertain hand. The sound seemed to come from
within the houses, yet how could that be? Assuredly no one lived under
these crazy roofs. The musician was playing 'Home, Sweet Home,' and as
Goldthorpe listened it seemed to him that the sound was not stationary.
Indeed, it moved; it became more distant, then again the notes sounded more
distinctly, and now as if the player were in the open air. Perhaps he was
at the back of the houses?

On either side ran a narrow passage, which parted the spot of desolation
from inhabited dwellings. Exploring one of these, Goldthorpe found that
there lay in the rear a tract of gardens. Each of the three lifeless houses
had its garden of about twenty yards long. The bordering wall along the
passage allowed a man of average height to peer over it, and Goldthorpe
searched with curious eye the piece of ground which was nearest to him.
Many a year must have gone by since any gardening was done here. Once upon
a time the useful and ornamental had both been represented in this modest
space; now, flowers and vegetables, such of them as survived in the
struggle for existence, mingled together, and all alike were threatened by
a wild, rank growth of grasses and weeds, which had obliterated the beds,
hidden the paths, and made of the whole garden plot a green jungle. But
Goldthorpe gave only a glance at this still life; his interest was
engro