to a stop, and half a dozen boys gathered about his
truck. The delicacy was dispensed to them in little green and yellow
glasses, from which they extracted it with their tongues. The vendor
remained for a few minutes, then on again with his ''Okey'-okey-'okey!'
sung through the nose.

Next came a sound of distressful voices, whining the discords of a
mendicant psalm. A man, a woman, and two small children crawled along
the street; their eyes surveyed the upper windows. All were ragged and
filthy; the elders bore the unmistakable brand of the gin-shop, and the
children were visaged like debased monkeys. Occasionally a copper fell
to them, in return for which the choragus exclaimed 'Gord bless yer!'

Thyrza sat in her usual place by the window, now reading for a few
minutes, now dreaming. Lydia had some stockings to be darned; she
became at length so silent that her sister turned to look at her. Her
head had dropped forward. She slumbered for a few minutes, then started
to consciousness again, and laughed when she saw Thyrza regarding her.

'I suppose Mary'll be here directly?' she said. 'I'd better put this
work out of sight.' And as she began to spread the cloth, she asked:
'What'll you do whilst we're at chapel, Thyrza?'

'I think I'll go and have tea with Mrs. Grail; then I'll see if I dare
ask for a book.'

'You've made up your mind not to go out?'

'There was something I wanted to tell you. I met Mr. Ackroyd as I was
coming home last night. I told him I couldn't come out alone, and I
said I couldn't be sure whether you'd come or not.'

'But what a pity!' returned Lydia. 'You knew I was going to chapel. I'm
afraid he'll wait for us.'

'Yes, but I somehow didn't like to say we wouldn't go at all. What time
is he going to be there?'

'He said at six o'clock.'

'Would you mind just running out and telling him? Perhaps you'll be
going past with Mary, not long after?'

'That's a nice job you give me!' remarked Lydia, with a half smile.

'But I know you don't mind it, Lyddy. It isn't the first thing you've
done for me.'

It was said with so much _naivete_ that Lydia could not but laugh.

'I should like it much better if you'd go yourself,' she replied. 'But
I'm afraid it's no good asking.'

'Not a hit! And, Lyddy, I told Mr. Ackroyd that it would always be the
same. He understands now.'

The other made no reply.

'You won't be cross about it?'

'No, dear; there's nothing to be cross about. But I'm ve