ud.

Thinking of this, as I thought of everything, in relation to baby, I
bought, as I was passing a hosier's shop, a pair of nice warm stockings
and a little woollen jacket.

When I reached the Olivers' I found, to my surprise, two strange men
stretched out at large in the kitchen, one on the sofa and the other in
the rocking-chair, both smoking strong tobacco and baby coughing
constantly.

Before I realised what had happened Mrs. Oliver called me into the
scullery, and, after closing the door on us, she explained the position,
in whispers broken by sobs.

It was the rent. These were the bailiff's men put into possession by the
landlord, and unless she could find two pounds ten by nine o'clock
to-morrow morning, she and her husband would be sold up and turned into
the street.

"The home as I've been scraping and pinching to keep together!" she
cried. "For the sake of two pound ten! . . . You couldn't lend us that
much, could you?"

I told her I could not, but she renewed her entreaties, asking me to
think if I had not something I could pawn for them, and saying that Ted
and she would consider it "a sacred dooty" to repay.

Again I told her I had nothing--I was trying not to think of the
miniature--but just at that moment she caught sight of the child's
jacket which I was still holding in my hand, and she fell on me with
bitter reproaches.

"You've money enough to spend on baby, though. It's crool. Her living in
lukshry and getting new milk night and day, and fine clothes being
bought for her constant, and my pore Ted without a roof to cover him in
weather same as this. It breaks my heart. It do indeed. Take your child
away, ma'am. Take her to-night, afore we're turned out of house and home
to-morrow morning."

Before the hysterical cries with which Mrs. Oliver said this had come
to an end I was on my way back to my room at the Jew's. But it was baby
I was thinking of in relation to that cold, clammy night--that it would
be impossible to take her out in it (even if I had somewhere to take her
to, which I had not) without risk to her health and perhaps her life.

With trembling fingers and an awful pain at my heart I took my mother's
miniature from the wall and wrapped it up in tissue paper.

A few minutes afterwards I was back in the damp streets, walking fast
and eagerly, cutting over the lines of the electric trams without
looking for the crossings.

I knew where I was going to--I was going to a pawnbr