end. They get bigger and bigger." His voice dropped as though he named
strange names.

"It's LONDON," he said.

"And it's all empty now and left alone. All day it's left alone. You
don't find 'ardly a man, you won't find nothing but dogs and cats after
the rats until you get round by Bromley and Beckenham, and there you
find the Kentish men herding swine. (Nice rough lot they are too!) I
tell you that so long as the sun is up it's as still as the grave. I
been about by day--orfen and orfen." He paused.

"And all those 'ouses and streets and ways used to be full of people
before the War in the Air and the Famine and the Purple Death. They used
to be full of people, Teddy, and then came a time when they was full of
corpses, when you couldn't go a mile that way before the stink of 'em
drove you back. It was the Purple Death 'ad killed 'em every one. The
cats and dogs and 'ens and vermin caught it. Everything and every one
'ad it. Jest a few of us 'appened to live. I pulled through, and your
aunt, though it made 'er lose 'er 'air. Why, you find the skeletons in
the 'ouses now. This way we been into all the 'ouses and took what we
wanted and buried moce of the people, but up that way, Norwood way,
there's 'ouses with the glass in the windows still, and the furniture
not touched--all dusty and falling to pieces--and the bones of the
people lying, some in bed, some about the 'ouse, jest as the Purple
Death left 'em five-and-twenty years ago. I went into one--me and old
Higgins las' year--and there was a room with books, Teddy--you know what
I mean by books, Teddy?"

"I seen 'em. I seen 'em with pictures."

"Well, books all round, Teddy, 'undreds of books, beyond-rhyme or
reason, as the saying goes, green-mouldy and dry. I was for leaven' 'em
alone--I was never much for reading--but ole Higgins he must touch em.
'I believe I could read one of 'em NOW,' 'e says.

"'Not it,' I says.

"'I could,' 'e says, laughing and takes one out and opens it.

"I looked, and there, Teddy, was a cullud picture, oh, so lovely! It was
a picture of women and serpents in a garden. I never see anything like
it.

"'This suits me,' said old Higgins, 'to rights.'

"And then kind of friendly he gave the book a pat--

Old Tom Smallways paused impressively.

"And then?" said Teddy.

"It all fell to dus'. White dus'!" He became still more impressive. "We
didn't touch no more of them books that day. Not after that."

For a long time both