rved a water-bucket and
scrubbing-brush wet, usually, from recent use, also a green painted
box-garden of dimensions corresponding to the court, full of well-tended
flowers. Almost every door has a wooden or stone step, and each step is
worn and white with repeated scrubbings--insomuch that one is
irresistibly led to suspect that the "Bloaters" must have a strong
infusion of the Dutch element in their nature.

Emerging at the lower end of the row, Mr Jones and his small companion
hastened along the centre of a narrow street which led them into one of
much wider dimensions, named Friar's Lane. Proceeding along this for
some time, they diverged to the right into another of the rows not far
from the old city-wall, at a place where one of the massive towers still
rears its rugged head as a picturesque ruin. The moon sailed out from
under a mass of clouds at this point, giving to objects the distinctness
of daylight. Hitherto Billy Towler had retained some idea of the
direction in which he was being led, but this last turn threw his
topographical ideas into utter confusion.

"A queer place this," he remarked, as they emerged from the narrowest
passage they had yet traversed into a neat, snug, and most unexpected
little square, with a garden in the middle of it, and a flagstaff in one
corner.

"Adam-and-Eve gardens, they call it," said Mr Jones; "we're pretty nigh
home now."

"I wonder they didn't call it Eden at once," observed Billy; "it would
have been shorter and comes to the same thing."

"Here we are at last," said Mr Jones, stumbling against a small door in
one of the network of rows that surrounded this Yarmouth paradise.
"Hope the women are in," he added, attempting to lift the latch, but,
finding that the door was locked, he hammered at it with foot and fist
violently.

"Hallo!" shouted the deep voice of a man within.

"Hallo, indeed! Who may _you_ be?" growled Mr Jones with an angry
oath. "Open the door, will you?"

The door was opened at once by James Welton, who stood aside to let the
other pass.

"Oh! it's you, is it?" said Mr Jones. "Didn't recognise your voice
through the door. I thought you couldn't have got the sloop made snug
so soon. Well, lass, how are 'ee; and how's the old ooman?"

As the man made these inquiries in a half-hearty voice, he advanced into
a poorly-furnished apartment, so small and low that it seemed a couple
of sizes too small for him, and bestowed a kiss first upon