scaffold-pole
standing upright at the foot of her bed.

This was bad enough, but it further appeared next day that a new floor
would be _de rigueur_ overhead in Mrs. Prichard's room. Not only were
sundry timber balks shoved up against the house outside so they couldn't
constitoot a hindrance to anyone--so Mr. Bartlett said when he giv' in a
price for the job--but the street-door wouldn't above half shet to, and
all the windows had to be seen to. Add to this afflictions from
tarpaulings that would keep you bone-dry even if there come a
thunderstorm--or perhaps, properly speaking, that would have done so
only they were just a trifle wore at critical points--and smells of damp
plaster that quite took away the relish from your food, and you will
form some idea what remaining in the house during the repairs meant to
Uncle Mo and his belongings.

Not that Dolly and Dave took their sufferings to heart much. The
novelties of the position went far to compensate them for its drawbacks.
One supreme grief there was for them, certainly. The avalanche of
brickwork had destroyed, utterly and irrevocably, that cherished
sunflower. They had clung to a lingering hope that, as soon as the
claims of humanity had been discharged by the rescue of the victims of
the catastrophe, the attention of the rescuers would be directed to
carefully removing the _debris_ from above their buried treasure. They
were shocked at the callous indifference shown to its fate. It was an
early revelation of the heartlessness of mankind. Nevertheless, the
shattered sunflower was recovered in the end, and Dolly took it to bed
with her, and cried herself to sleep over it.

* * * * *

So it seemed impossible for Dave and Dolly, and their uncle and aunt,
all to remain on in the half-wrecked house. But then--where had they to
go to? It was clear that Dolly and her aunt would have to turn out, and
the only resource seemed to be that they should go away for a while to
her grandmother's, an old lady at Ealing, who existed, but went no
further. She had never entered Sapps Court, but her daughters, Aunt
M'riar and Dolly's mother, had paid her dutiful visits. There was no
ill-feeling--none whatever! So to Ealing Aunt M'riar went, two or three
days later, and Dave went too, although he was convinced Uncle Mo
couldn't do without him.

The old boy himself remained in residence, being fed by The Rising Sun;
which sounds like poetry, but relat