as nearly a serious accident, for Bob was coming down the balustrade
from the first floor, gliding upon the central part of his person with
arms and legs extended--taking hold having grown common.

The sharp "Here, boy!" so startled him that he overbalanced himself,
went right over, but caught at the upright spindly bars, and so far
saved himself that he came down upon his feet in a couple of
somersaults, recovering himself directly, and coming forward with a grin
upon his bloodless face, as if the feat had been intended.

"Ah, you'll break your neck some day. Here's a shilling for you. Take
me into Miss Chartley at once."

Bob bit the coin, and slipped it into his pocket before he replied,
"Gone out."

"Gone out? Will she be long?"

"Dessay she'll be hours, sir."

James Poynter stamped with his foot, and muttered something
unparliamentary.

"Tell Miss Chartley," he said. "No, don't tell her anything. Here, let
me out."

Bob ran to the ponderous old door, and stood holding it open with his
eyes glittering as he stared at the visitor, till he had hurried out
with his hat set very much on one side, and walked sharply away.

"Thought he'd want the bob again," said the boy. "Just do for the old
gal. Well, I'm blessed!"

This last consequent upon his catching sight of a shabby-looking figure
in black, with a damaged bonnet, and a weirdly dissipated look, rising
slowly into sight up the area-steps, and then coming out of the creaking
gate to the boy, who grew more serious the nearer the figure came.

It was not a pleasant face to look upon, for it was not over-clean; the
black and grey hair was ill-arranged, and the eyes that shone above the
flushed cheeks belied the woman sadly if they did not tell the truth
about potations.

"Why, Bob, my darling," she said, with an exaggerated fawning smile,
"and how is my bonny boy?"

"Here stow that, mother," cried the lad, struggling from an embrace.
"Don't! Can't yer see I've been brushing my hair?"

"Yes, and it looks beautiful, ducky. I've been knocking ever so long at
the hairy door, and that fine madam saw me, and wouldn't let me in."

"No; she says I ain't never to let you in no more."

"Not let me in no more to see my own boy?"

"No; she says you took some fresh butter last time you was here, and you
sha'n't come."

"Then you sha'n't stay, Bob; I'll take you away, my darling. Oh, it's a
wicked, cruel world!"

"Here, I say, mother, stow that. Wh