and turnips, and frying bacon or sprats, fared worse than her
companions. But she had learned to live on very little. She stitched
steadily all day and every day, gaining more and more skill, but never
able to earn more than fourteen shillings a week. Prices went down
steadily. At fourteen shillings she could live, and had managed even not
only to pay Widgeon but to pick up some "bits of things." She was like
her father, the old people in the alley said. He had been a silent,
decent, hard-working man, who died broken-hearted at the turn his wife
took for drink. Nan had his patience and his faithfulness; and Johnny,
who crawled about the room, and could light a fire and do some odds and
ends of house-keeping, was like her, and saved her much time as he grew
older, but hardly any bigger. He had even learned to fry sprats, and to
sing, in a high, cracked, little voice, a song known throughout the
alley:--

"Oh, 'tis my delight of a Friday night,
When sprats they isn't dear,
To fry a couple o' dozen or so
Upon a fire clear."

There are many verses of this ditty, all ending with the chorus:--

"Oh, 'tis my delight of a Friday night!"

and Johnny varied the facts ingeniously, and shouted "bacon," or
anything else that would fry, well pleased at his own ingenuity.

"He was 'wanting.' Nan might better put him away in some asylum," the
neighbors said; but Nan paid no attention. He was all she had, and he
was much better worth working for than herself, and so she went on.

Old Widgeon had been spending the evening with them. Nan had stitched on
as she must; for prices had gone down again, and she was earning but
nine shillings a week. Widgeon seldom said much. He held Johnny on his
knee, and now and then looked at Nan.

"It's a dog's life," he said at last. "It's far worse than a dog's.
You'd be better off going with a barrow, Nan. I'm a good mind to leave
you mine, Nan. You'd get a bit of air, then, and you'd make--well, a
good bit more than you do now."

Widgeon had checked himself suddenly. Nobody knew what the weekly gain
might be, but people put it as high as three pounds; and this was
fabulous wealth.

"I've thought of it," Nan said. "I've thought of it ever since that day
you rode me and Johnny in the barrow. Do you mind? The donkey knows me
now, I think. He's a wise one."

"Ay, he's a wise one," the old man said. "Donkeys is wiser than folks
think." He put Johnny down sudd