on, after creating them, to their
own wayward impulses.

Old Maisie admitted the beneficence of Providence, but rather as an act
of courtesy. "For," said she, "we were never in any real danger, owing
to the piece of timber Mr. Bartlett had thrown across to catch the
floor-joists." She was of course repeating Mr. Bartlett's own words,
without close analysis of their actual meaning. Her mind only just
avoided associations of cricket. But poor Susan Burr--oh dear!--that was
much worse. "She has done wonderfully well, though," continued the old
lady, "and her case gave the greatest satisfaction to the Doctors at the
Hospital. She has written to me herself since leaving. And she must be
really better, because she has gone to her married niece at Clapham." It
seemed a sort of destiny that this niece's wifehood should always be
emphasized. It was almost implied that a less complete recovery would
have resulted in a journey to a single niece, at Clapham; or possibly,
only at Battersea. Widow Thrale was interested in the accident, but she
wanted to get back to Dave Wardle. "Then no one could live in the house,
ma'am," she said, "after it had fallen down?"

"Not in my rooms upstairs, nor his Aunt M'riar's underneath. Only his
uncle stopped in, to keep the place. _His_ room was all safe. It was
like the front of two rooms, all down in the street as if it was an
earthquake. And no forewarning, above a crack or two! But the children
safe, God be thanked, and her young ladyship! Also her cousin, Miss
Grahame, down below with Aunt M'riar."

"That lady we call Sister Nora?"

"That lady. But I was so stunned and dazed with the start it gave me,
and the noise, that I had no measure of anything. They took me home with
them. I can just call to mind moving in the carriage, and the
lamplighter." Old Maisie recollected seeing the lamplighter, but she had
forgotten how she was got into that carriage.

"Then you hardly saw the children?"

"I was all mazed. I heard my Dolly cry, poor little soul! Her ladyship
says Dave took Dolly up very short for being such a coward. But he
kissed her, for comfort, and to keep her in heart."

"_He_ didn't cry!"

"Davy?--not he. Davy makes it a point to be afraid of nothing. His uncle
has taught him so. He was"--here some hesitation--"he belonged to what
they called the Prize Ring. A professional boxer." It sounded better
than "prizefighter"--more restrained.

"Oh dear!" said Widow Thrale. "Yes. I had