coffin again, as if calculating whether the body would
fit.

The mother uncovered the white, pinched face of the dead boy, and Bill
came and stood by the sofa. He carelessly drew his right hand from his
pocket, and laid the palm on Arvie's ice-cold forehead.

"Poor little cove!" Bill muttered, half to himself; and then, as though
ashamed of his weakness, he said:

"There wasn't no post mortem, was there?"

"No," she answered; "a doctor saw him the day before--there was no post
mortem."

"I thought there wasn't none," said Bill, "because a man that's been
post mortemed always looks as if he'd been hurt. My father looked right
enough at first--just as if he was restin'--but after they'd had him
opened he looked as if he'd been hurt. No one else could see it, but I
could. How old was Arvie?"

"Eleven."'

"I'm twelve--goin' on for thirteen. Arvie's father's dead, ain't he?"

"Yes."

"So's mine. Died at his work, didn't he?"

"Yes."

"So'd mine. Arvie told me his father died of something with his heart!"

"Yes."

"So'd mine; ain't it rum? You scrub offices an' wash, don't yer?"

"Yes."

"So does my mother. You find it pretty hard to get a livin', don't yer,
these times?"

"My God, yes! God only knows what I'll do now my poor boy's gone. I
generally get up at half-past five to scrub out some offices, and when
that's done I've got to start my day's work, washing. And then I find it
hard to make both ends meet."

"So does my mother. I suppose you took on bad when yer husband was
brought home?"

"Ah, my God! Yes. I'll never forget it till my dying day. My poor
husband had been out of work for weeks, and he only got the job two days
before he died. I suppose it gave your mother a great shock?"

"My oath! One of the fellows that carried father home said: 'Yer
husband's dead, mum,' he says; 'he dropped off all of a suddint,' and
mother said, 'My God! my God!' just like that, and went off."

"Poor soul! poor soul! And--now my Arvie's gone. Whatever will me and
the children do? Whatever will I do? Whatever will I do? My God! I wish
I was under the turf."

"Cheer up, mum!" said Bill. "It's no use frettin' over what's done."

He wiped some tobacco-juice off his lips with the back of his hand, and
regarded the stains reflectively for a minute or so. Then he looked at
Arvie again.

"You should ha' tried cod liver oil," said Bill.

"No. He needed rest and plenty of good food."

"He wasn't very strong."