the end of your dream, Alf?"

"The end of it was," ses Alf, "that you and Mrs. Pearce was both very
much upset, as o' course you couldn't marry while 'er fust was alive,
and the last thing I see afore I woke up was her boxes standing at the
front door waiting for a cab."

George Hatchard was going to ask 'im more about it, but just then Mrs.
Pearce came in with a pair of Alf's socks that he 'ad been untidy enough
to leave in the middle of the floor instead of chucking 'em under the
bed. She was so unpleasant about it that, if it hadn't ha' been for the
thought of wot was going to 'appen on Tuesday, Alf couldn't ha' stood
it.

For the next day or two George Hatchard was in such a state of
nervousness and excitement that Alf was afraid that the 'ousekeeper
would notice it. On Tuesday morning he was trembling so much that she
said he'd got a chill, and she told 'im to go to bed and she'd make 'im
a nice hot mustard poultice. George was afraid to say "no," but while
she was in the kitchen making the poultice he slipped out for a walk
and cured 'is trembling with three whiskies. Alf nearly got the poultice
instead, she was so angry.

She was unpleasant all dinner-time, but she got better in the arternoon,
and when the Morgans came in the evening, and she found that Mrs.
Morgan 'ad got a nasty sort o' red swelling on her nose, she got quite
good-tempered. She talked about it nearly all supper-time, telling 'er
what she ought to do to it, and about a friend of hers that 'ad one and
'ad to turn teetotaler on account of it.

"My nose is good enough for me," ses Mrs. Morgan, at last.

"It don't affect 'er appetite," ses George Hat-chard, trying to make
things pleasant, "and that's the main thing."

Mrs. Morgan got up to go, but arter George Hat-chard 'ad explained wot
he didn't mean she sat down agin and began to talk to Mrs. Pearce about
'er dress and 'ow beautifully it was made. And she asked Mrs. Pearce to
give 'er the pattern of it, because she should 'ave one like it herself
when she was old enough. "I do like to see people dressed suitable," she
ses, with a smile.

"I think you ought to 'ave a much deeper color than this," ses Mrs.
Pearce, considering.

"Not when I'm faded," ses Mrs. Morgan.

Mrs. Pearce, wot was filling 'er glass at the time, spilt a lot of beer
all over the tablecloth, and she was so cross about it that she sat
like a stone statue for pretty near ten minutes. By the time supper was
finished