of marriage with a grin. Half his time was spent under the veranda at
the corner with the Push. He worked at his trade by fits and starts,
earning enough to keep himself in cigarettes.

That was six months ago, and Ada had returned to the factory, where her
disaster created no stir. Such accidents were common. Mrs Yabsley
reared the child as she had reared her daughter, in a box-cradle near
the wash-tub or ironing-board, for Ada proved an indifferent mother.

Then, with a sudden change of front, she encouraged Jonah's intimacy
with Ada. She invited him to the house, which he avoided with an
animal craft and suspicion, meeting Ada in the streets. It was her
scheme to get him to live in the house; the rest, she thought, would be
easy. But Jonah feared dimly that if he ventured inside the house he
would bring himself under the law. So he grinned, and kept his
distance, like an animal that fears a trap.

But at last, his resistance worn to a thread by constant coaxing, he
had agreed to spend the night there on account of the fowls. He was
interested in these, for one pair was his gift to Ada, the fruit of
some midnight raid.

Jonah stood alone at the corner watching the crowd. Chook's reference
to the baby had shaken his resolution, and he decided to think it over.
And as he watched the moving procession with the pleasure of a
spectator at the play, he thought uneasily of women and marriage. As
he nodded from time to time to an acquaintance, a young man passed him
carrying a child in his arms. His wife, a slip of a girl, loaded with
bundles, gave Jonah a quick look of fear and scorn. The man stared
Jonah full in the face without a sign of recognition, and bent his head
over the child with a caressing movement. Jonah noted the look of
humble pride in his eyes, and marvelled. Twelve months ago he was
Jonah's rival in the Push, famous for his strength and audacity, and
now butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. Jonah called to mind other
cases, with a sudden fear in his heart at this mysterious ceremony
before a parson that affected men like a disease, robbing them of all a
man desired, and leaving them contented and happy. He turned into
Cardigan Street with the air of a man who is putting his neck in the
noose, resolving secretly to cut and run at the least hint of danger.

As he walked slowly up the street he became aware of a commotion at the
corner of George Street. He saw that a crowd had gathered, and