ey had in its place a waste expanse of dirty dull
roofs and smoking chimneys. If they looked down below, they saw a
series of small courtyards used for the purpose of storing refuse which
could not be put in the dustbin--bottles, broken crockery, and odd bits
of rusty iron. The first thing was to provide the breakfast for the
following morning. This their landlady offered to do for them. The
next thing was to go to bed utterly wearied and worn out. They both
slept soundly, and both woke much refreshed and full of buoyant hope.
A pleasant and seductive vista lay before them--seductive and pleasant,
although they were in Nelson Square, as that which we see in one of
Turner's Italian pictures--a temple at the side, a lake in front and
beyond it a valley embosomed in woods and mountains, basking in golden
light.

They planned the day. Miriam had to lay in her stock of eatables, and
of course must call on her aunt. At twenty minutes to eight Andrew
started. The way was easy to find, and he was at his uncle's five
minutes before his time. The shopmen were already there, and Andrew
had rather a rough greeting.

"An't yer brought yer warming-pan with yer, young 'un? You'll find it
cool a sittin' still all day long."

Andrew then found out that the desk up aloft was really his appointed
post.

"Don't yer be so free, Bill," said the other; "he's the govnor's nevvy.
You'd better mind what you're at, old man, now we've got the nevvy
here."

"I suppose you'll be a pardner next week," continued the first with a
bow.

The truth was that Mr. Dabb had told his men that he was expecting a
nephew "of his missus's," and that "he was took on as a kind of charity
like."

Mr. Dabb now appeared.

"Here you are--all right. Sharp's the word--that's my motter. Keep on
your coat and hat--you'll want 'em, I can tell you. This isn't a place
for coddlin', is it, Bill?" Bill smiled. "You've got to take the
money--all ready money here, except a few weeklies. You get a ticket,
see as you have the right amount; we keep a duplicate, and so we check
you. Things as go in the books you put down. Three-quarters of an
hour for your dinner and half-an-hour for tea--not like Cowfold, eh?
You'll see life here--_life_, my boy;" and Mr. Dabb, full of ham,
buttered toast, and hot coffee, and feeling very well that morning,
began to chop with great vigour at the spine of a dead pig suspended by
its hind-legs. "Life," he said again--"the