wrangle underground, explaining her motive. She desired that her
daughter, whose eyesight was better than her own, should thread a piece
of pack-thread through a rip in the base of the Janus basket, which had
to account for the kitten's appearance in public. She did not seem
apprehensive about leaving the shop ungarrisoned.

But had she been a shrewder person, she might have felt misgivings about
this man's character, even if she had acquitted him of such petty theft
as running away with congested tallow candles. For no reasonable theory
could be framed of a mate in abeyance, who would emerge from anywhere
down opposite. A mate of a man who seemed to be of no employment, to
belong to no recognised class, to wear description-baffling clothes--not
an ostler's, nor an undertaker's, certainly; but some suspicion of one
or other, Heaven knew why!--and never to look straight in front of him.
Without some light on his vocation, imagination could provide no mate.
And this man looked neither up nor down the street, but remained
watching the _cul de sac_ from one corner of his eye. It was not coming
on to rain as alleged, and he might have had a better outlook nearer the
door. But he seemed to prefer retirement.

The wrangle underground fluctuated slightly, went into another key, and
then resumed the theme. A lean little girl came in, who tapped on the
counter with a coin. She called out "'A'p'orth o' dips!" taking a tress
of her hair from between her teeth to say it, and putting it back to
await the result. She had a little brother with her, who was old
enough to walk when pulled, but not old enough to discipline his
own nose, being dependent on his sister's good offices, and her
pocket-handkerchief. He offered a sucked peardrop to the kitten, who
would not hear of it.

There certainly was no rain, or Mrs. Riley would never have remained
outside, with those bare arms and all. There she was, saying
good-evening to someone who had just come from Sapps Court. The man in
the shop listened, closely and curiously.

"Good-avening, Mr. Moses, thin! Whin will we see the blessed chilther
back? Shure it's wakes and wakes and wakes!" Which written, looks odd;
but, spoken, only conveyed regretful reference to the time Dave and
Dolly had been away, without taxing the hearer's understanding. "They
till me your good lady's been sane, down the Court."

Uncle Mo had just come out, on his way to a short visit to The Sun. He
was looking cheer