he price he got for
them. He used to feel like a criminal when he went into the shops to
ask them for the work, because he realized fully that, in effect, he
was saying to them: 'Take your work away from the other man, and employ
me.' He was so conscious of this that it gave him a shamefaced manner,
which, coupled as it was with his shabby clothing, did not create a
very favourable impression upon those he addressed, who usually treated
him with about as much courtesy as they would have extended to any
other sort of beggar. Generally, after a day's canvassing, he returned
home unsuccessful and faint with hunger and fatigue.

Once, when there was a bitterly cold east wind blowing, he was out on
one of these canvassing expeditions and contracted a severe cold: his
chest became so bad that he found it almost impossible to speak,
because the effort to do so often brought on a violent fit of coughing.
It was during this time that a firm of drapers, for whom he had done
some showcards, sent him an order for one they wanted in a hurry, it
had to be delivered the next morning, so he stayed up by himself till
nearly midnight to do it. As he worked, he felt a strange sensation in
his chest: it was not exactly a pain, and he would have found it
difficult to describe it in words--it was just a sensation. He did not
attach much importance to it, thinking it an effect of the cold he had
taken, but whatever it was he could not help feeling conscious of it
all the time.

Frankie had been put to bed that evening at the customary hour, but did
not seem to be sleeping as well as usual. Owen could hear him twisting
and turning about and uttering little cries in his sleep.

He left his work several times to go into the boy's room and cover him
with the bedclothes which his restless movements had disordered. As
the time wore on, the child became more tranquil, and about eleven
o'clock, when Owen went in to look at him, he found him in a deep
sleep, lying on his side with his head thrown back on the pillow,
breathing so softly through his slightly parted lips that the sound was
almost imperceptible. The fair hair that clustered round his forehead
was damp with perspiration, and he was so still and pale and silent
that one might have thought he was sleeping the sleep that knows no
awakening.

About an hour later, when he had finished writing the showcard, Owen
went out into the scullery to wash his hands before going to bed: and
w