ess of consequences, looking
not too far ahead, and following the will of his race--I trust that he
will get hold of you and whirl you heavenwards, and will fill your
being full to the brim; and will kiss you and surround you with
himself, and will make you forget yourself and your mistress and all
the world, the leaves and birds of the Lover's Lane, the shadowy cattle
munching in the field and the footsteps approaching.

I wish you luck--that your young man may stick to you. It is after all
a glimpse of God I wish you, perhaps your only one.

You've got a longish time before you.

11

[Sidenote: _MRS YARTY_]

Mrs Yarty, up Back Lane, is reduced to that last extremity of poor
women: she is cleaning her cottage and preparing as well as she can 'to
go up over' on credit, without either doctor or midwife--unless she
becomes so ill that someone sends for the parish doctor. She will not
wish that done, and probably when her time comes, some neighbour will
look in to see if she is going on as well as can be expected. Were
Yarty and his wife sufficiently servile to attend church or chapel,
prayer-meetings or revivals, all sorts of amateur parsons, male and
female, would flock round; but in any case, Mrs Yarty has no time for
such goings-on, and if Yarty found anyone sniffing about his house, he
would certainly tell them that it _was_ his house.

A while ago one of the 'district ladies' came here, to Tony's. We were
a little short with her, and as a last resource, she remarked
superciliously, in a tone of pleasant surprise: "You are really _very_
clean here." 'Twas an untruth. We are not _very_ clean: we are as
cleanly as is practicable. I should have liked to show her the door.
"'Tis only the way of 'em!" said Mrs Widger. "They'm stupid, but they
means all right."

[Sidenote: _THE YARTY CHILDREN_]

Mrs Yarty is not low-spirited at all, and though her voice sounds
rather hysterical, it is merely her manner of speaking, slightly
accentuated perhaps by more trouble than usual. She is fairly well used
to such events by now. Yarty himself is angry. His ordinary habits are
bound to be upset for a few days; for ever, if Mrs Yarty dies. He is
what successful and conceited people call a waster. "There ain't no
harm in him," Tony says. "He wuden't hurt a fly. The only thing is, 'er
don't du much." I have never seen him actually drunk. He keeps very
nearly all his irregular earnings for his own use in a strong locked
box ups