harves, and meets the sandy churn of the
tideway. Mr Sharnall had become aware that he was tired, and he stood
and leant over the iron paling that divides the roadway from the stream.
He did not know how tired he was till he stopped walking, nor how the
rain had wetted him till he bent his head a little forward, and a
cascade of water fell from the brim of his worn-out hat.

It was a forlorn and dismal stream at which he looked. The low tannery
buildings of wood projected in part over the water, and were supported
on iron props, to which were attached water-whitened skins and repulsive
portions of entrails, that swung slowly from side to side as the river
took them. The water here is little more than three feet deep, and
beneath its soiled current can be seen a sandy bottom on which grow
patches of coarse duck-weed. To Mr Sharnall these patches of a green
so dark and drain-soiled as to be almost black in the failing light,
seemed tresses of drowned hair, and he weaved stories about them for
himself as the stream now swayed them to and fro, and now carried them
out at length.

He observed things with that vacant observation which the body at times
insists on maintaining, when the mind is busy with some overmastering
preoccupation. He observed the most trivial details; he made an
inventory of the things which he could see lying on the dirty bed of the
river underneath the dirty water. There was a tin bucket with a hole in
the bottom; there was a brown teapot without a spout; there was an
earthenware blacking-bottle too strong to be broken; there were other
shattered glass bottles and shards of crockery; there was a rim of a
silk hat, and more than one toeless boot. He turned away, and looked
down the road towards the town. They were beginning to light the lamps,
and the reflections showed a criss-cross of white lines on the muddy
road, where the water stood in the wheel-tracks. There was a dark
vehicle coming down the road now, making a fresh track in the mud, and
leaving two shimmering lines behind it as it went. He gave a little
start when it came nearer, and he saw that it was the undertaker's cart
carrying out a coffin for some pauper at the Union Workhouse.

He gave a start and a shiver; the wet had come through his overcoat; he
could feel it on his arms; he could feel the cold and clinging wet
striking at his knees. He was stiff with standing so long, and a
rheumatic pain checked him suddenly as he trie