ny ships are sunk."

* * * * *

Sapps Court had resumed its tranquil routine of everyday life, and the
accident had nearly become a thing of the past. Not entirely, for Mrs.
Prichard's portion of No. 7 still remained unoccupied, even Susan Burr
remaining absent at her married niece's at Clapham. Aunt M'riar had
charge, and kept a bit of fire going in the front-room, so the plaster
should get a chance to dry out. Also she stood the front and back
windows wide to let through a good draught of air, except, of course, it
was pouring rain, and then it was no good. The front-room was a great
convenience to Aunt M'riar, who now and then was embarrassed with linen
to dry, relieving her from the necessity of rendering the kitchen
impassable with it in the morning till she came down and took it off of
the lines ready for ironing, and removed the cords on which she had hung
it overnight.

Dave and Dolly were allowed upstairs during operations, on stringent
conditions; or, rather, it should be said, on a stringent condition.
They were to leave things be. This was honourably observed, especially
by Dave, who was the soul of honour when once he gave his word. As for
Dolly, she was still young, and if she did claw hold of a chemise and
bring down the whole line, why, it was only that once, and we was
children once ourselves. This was Uncle Mo, of course; he was that
easy-going.

But whenever Aunt M'riar was not handicapping the desiccation of the
walls by overcharging the atmosphere with moisture of the very wettest
possible sort, Dolly and Dave could have the room to themselves, so long
as they kep' their hands off the clean wallpaper; which was included in
leaving be, obviously--not an intrusion of a new stipulation. They would
then, being alone, go great lengths in picturing to themselves and each
other the pending reappearance of Mrs. Picture and Mrs. Burr, and the
delights of resuming halcyon days of old. For this strangely compounded
clay, Man, scarcely waits to be quite sure he is landed in existence,
before he inaugurates a glorious fiction, the golden Past, which never
has been; between which and its resurrection into an equally golden
Future--which never will be--he sandwiches the pewter Present, which
always is, and which it is idle to pretend is worth twopence, by
comparison.

"When old Mrs. Spicture comes back"--thus Dolly--"she shall set in her
own chair wiv scushions, and she shall s