him as was the claimant for
'em, you know, on'y he didn't get 'em. The cold flew to Tom's eyes
straight, and blest if he ain't gone blind as a mole."

Mercy's lips quivered. The driver stopped his chatter, conscious that he
had gone too far, and then, with somewhat illogical perversity, he
proceeded to express his vexation at himself by punishing his horse.

"Get along, you stupid old perwerse old knacker's crutch!"

The horse set off at a trot. They passed through a village, and Mercy
read the name "Child's Hill" printed on the corner of a house.

"Is it London you are going to?" said Mercy, timidly; "Covent Garden--is
that London?"

"Eh?" The driver opened his eyes very wide in a blank stare.

Mercy trembled and held down her head. They jogged on awhile in silence,
and then the driver, who had cast furtive glances at the girl, drew
rein, and said: "I'm wexed as I said Tom Crow was as blind as a mole.
How-and-ever, a mole ain't blind, and it's on'y them coster chaps as
think so, but I've caught a many of 'em out ferning. Besides, Tom was
a-worrited with his missus, Tom was, and happen that was worse nor his
cold.

("Git along, you old perwerse old file!)

"You see, Tom's missus cut away and left him. As young as you, and
maybe as good to look at, but a bad 'un; and she broke Tom's heart, as
the saying is. So Tom left the ferning. He hadn't no heart for it.
Ferning's a thing as wants heart, it do. He started costering first, and
now Tom's got a 'tater-ingine, on'y being as he's blind he has a boy to
wheel it. And that woman, she done it all. 'Jim Groundsell,' he says to
me--that's my name--'Jim,' he says, 'don't fix your heart on nothing,'
he says, 'and keep to your sight and the ferning.'

("Well, you perwerse old crutch! Get along with you!)

"But I went and done it myself. And now my missus, she's a invalide, as
they say, and she ain't out o' bed this twelvemonth come Christmas, and
she gets lonesome lying all by herself, and frets a bit maybe, and--

("Git along, will you, you wexing old fence!")

There was a long silence this time. They were leaving the green fields
behind them, and driving through longer streets than Mercy had ever seen
before. Though the sun was shining feebly, the lamps on the pavement
were still burning. They passed a church, and Mercy saw by the clock
that it was hard on eight. They drove briskly through Camden Town into
St. Giles's, and so on to Long Acre.

The streets were thr