on't
seem possible that water can toss itself about so high as that, does
it?"

"It does seem extraordinary, Bill; we know that it is so because there
are constantly wrecks; but looking at the water it does not seem
possible that it should rise up into waves large enough to knock one
of those great steamers in pieces. Some day, Bill, not this year, of
course, because the house isn't finished, but next year, I hope we
shall be able all of us to go down for a trip to the sea. I have seen
it stuck up you can go to Margate and back for three or four
shillings; and though Bob Grimstone says that isn't regular sea, it
would be enough to show us something of what it's like."

The garden occupied a good deal of the boys' time. Bill's long
experience in the market had given him an interest in vegetables, and
he was always ready for an hour's work in the garden after tea. The
results of much labor and plenty of manure were not unsatisfactory,
and Mrs. Andrews was delighted with her regular supply of fresh
vegetables. Bill's anticipation, however, of the amount that could be
grown in a limited space were by no means fulfilled, and seeing the
small amount which could be daily gathered, and recalling the
countless piled-up wagons which he had been accustomed to see in
Covent Garden, he was continually expressing his astonishment at the
enormous quantity of ground which must be employed in keeping up the
supply of the market.

They did not that year get the trip to Margate; but in the autumn,
after the great work of furnishing was finished, they did get several
long jaunts, once out to Epping Forest on an omnibus, once in a
steamer up to Kew, and several times across to Greenwich Park. Mrs.
Andrews found it a very happy summer, free from the wear of anxiety,
which, more even than the work, had brought on her long illness. She
grew stronger and better than she had ever expected to be again, and
those who had only known the pale, harassed-looking needlewoman of
Croydon would not have recognized her now; indeed, as George said
sometimes, his mother looked younger and younger every day. She had
married very young, and was still scarcely five-and-thirty, and
although she laughed and said that George was a foolish boy when he
said that people always took her for his sister, she really looked
some years younger than she was. Her step had regained its elasticity,
and there was a ring of gladness and happiness in her voice which was
very