y from that wall an' I'll see you back on the street."

He was very lofty and erect in the meager light, rather a superb
figure, if the girl had had eyes for it. But she, to all seeming, was
dazed. He went in silence at her side till they reached the street
and saw that the open door of the mission still showed lights.

"There ye are," said Goodwin, halting.

The girl hesitated, looking back and forth. It was wonderful how her
suggestion of soft beauty persisted. She was abashed, stricken,
humiliated upon the dark street; and still she was lovely. She moved
away and paused.

"Good night!" said her faintly ringing voice, and she passed towards
the mission.

"Yes, it's me!" said Goodwin, answering the dumb surprise of old
Noble as he entered the fo'c'sle of the Etna. "An' you want to shut
your head. See?"

VI

THE BREADWINNER

The noonday bivouac was in a shady place nigh-hand the road, where a
group of solemn trees made a shadow on the dusty grass. It was a day
of robust heat; the sky arched cloudless over Sussex, and the road
was soft with white dust that rose like smoke under the feet. Trotter
no sooner saw the place than he called a halt and dropped his bundle.
The Signor smiled lividly and followed suit; Bill, the dog, lay down
forthwith and panted.

"Look at 'im!" said Trotter. "Just look at 'im, will yer! 'E ain't
carried no bundle; 'e ain't got to unpack no grub. And there 'e lies,
for us to wait on 'im."

"Where ees da beer?" demanded the Signor, who had the immediate mind.

The word drew Trotter from his wrongs, and together the men untied
the shabby bundles and set forth their food.

They made a queer picture in that quiet place of English green.
Trotter still wore tights, with hobnailed boots to walk in and a
rusty billycock hat for shelter to his head. He somewhat clung to
this garb, though his tumbling days were over. One had only to look
at his bloated, pouchy face to see how drink and sloth had fouled his
joints and slacked his muscles. Never again could he spread the
drugget in a rustic village street and strut about it on his hands
for the edification of a rustic audience. But the uniform he still
wore; he seemed to think it gave him some claim to indulgent notice.
The Signor, in his own way, was not less in contrast with his
background. His lean, predatory face and capacious smile went fitly
with the shabby frock coat and slouched hat he affected. He carried a
fiddle under his arm,