significant look at her neighbor, which Polly did not fail to note and
puzzle over. Tending Orlando gave her much time for puzzling. She was
known as an "old fashioned" child, with ways quite her own, always to be
depended upon, and confiding in no one but Orlando, who answered her in
a language of his own.

"When I am a lady, we will go away somewhere together," Polly said. "I
think I shall be a lady sometime, Orlando, and then we'll have good
times. There are good times somewhere, only they don't get into the
Buildings," and with a look at the sooty walls and the dirty passage she
followed her mother slowly up the stairs, and took her three winkles and
the big slice of bread and dripping, which she and Orlando were to
share, into the corner. Orlando must be coaxed to eat, which was always
a work of time, and before her own share had been swallowed, her
father's step was on the stairs, and her mother turned round from the
machine.

"Keep out of the way, Polly. 'E's taken too much, I know by the step of
'im, and 'e won't 'alf know what he's about."

Polly shrunk back. There was no time to get under the bed, which she
often did, and she hugged Orlando close and waited fearfully. Both were
silent, but she put her bread behind her. To see them eating sometimes
enraged him, and he had been known to fling loaf and teapot both from
the windows.

Both were on the table now, two or three slices spread with dripping for
the younger boys who would presently come in. Wemock sat down, his hands
in his pockets and his legs stretched out to their utmost length, and
looked first at his wife who was stitching trousers, and then at Polly,
whose eyes were fixed upon him.

"I'll teach you to look at me like that, you brat," he said, rising
slowly.

"For the Lord's sake, Wemock!" his wife cried, for there was deeper
mischief than usual in his tone. "Remember what you did to Orlando."

"I'll do for him again. I've 'ad enough of him always hunder foot. Out
o' the way, you fool."

Polly looked toward the door. A beating for herself could be taken, but
never for Orlando. Her mother had come between, and she saw her father
strike her heavily, and then push her into the chair.

"Go on with your trousers," he said. "There's no money at the Docks, and
these children eating me out of house and home. A man might be master of
his own. Come 'ere. You won't, won't you? Then--"

There were oaths and a shriek from Orlando, on whom the strap h