"No, he was not, poor boy."

"I thought he wasn't. They treated him bad at Grinder Brothers: they
didn't give him a show to learn nothing; kept him at the same work all
the time, and he didn't have cheek enough to arsk the boss for a rise,
lest he'd be sacked. He couldn't fight, an' the boys used to tease him;
they'd wait outside the shop to have a lark with Arvie. I'd like to
see 'em do it to me. He couldn't fight; but then, of course, he wasn't
strong. They don't bother me while I'm strong enough to heave a rock;
but then, of course, it wasn't Arvie's fault. I s'pose he had pluck
enough, if he hadn't the strength." And Bill regarded the corpse with a
fatherly and lenient eye.

"My God!" she cried, "if I'd known this, I'd sooner have starved than
have my poor boy's life tormented out of him in such a place. He never
complained. My poor, brave-hearted child! He never complained! Poor
little Arvie! Poor little Arvie!"

"He never told yer?"

"No--never a word."

"My oath! You don't say so! P'raps he didn't want to let you know he
couldn't hold his own; but that wasn't his fault, I s'pose. Y'see, he
wasn't strong."

An old print hanging over the bed attracted his attention, and he
regarded it with critical interest for awhile:

"We've got a pickcher like that at home. We lived in Jones's Alley
wunst--in that house over there. How d'yer like livin' in Jones's
Alley?"

"I don't like it at all. I don't like having to bring my children up
where there are so many bad houses; but I can't afford to go somewhere
else and pay higher rent."

"Well, there _is_ a good many night-shops round here. But then," he
added, reflectively, "you'll find them everywheres. An', besides, the
kids git sharp, an' pick up a good deal in an alley like this; 'twon't
do 'em no harm; it's no use kids bein' green if they wanter get on in a
city. You ain't been in Sydney all yer life, have yer?"

"No. We came from the bush, about five years ago. My poor husband
thought he could do better in the city. I was brought up in the bush."'

"I thought yer was. Well, men are sick fools. I'm thinking about gittin'
a billet up-country, myself, soon. Where's he goin' ter be buried?"

"At Rookwood, to-morrow."

"I carn't come. I've got ter work. Is the Guvmint goin' to bury him?"

"Yes."

Bill looked at the body with increased respect. "Kin I do anythin' for
you? Now, don't be frightened to arsk!"

"No. Thank you very much, all the same."

"We