face.

"God bless you, dear boy," she said, patting him on the head, "you are
the first that has given me a look of sympathy for many--"

She broke down suddenly, burst into a flood of tears, and, seizing the
child in her arms, absolutely hugged him!

"Hallo! hallo!" cried the Bloater, when Little Jim was released. "I
say, you know, come, this sort o' thing will never do. W'y, its
houtrageous. Come along with you."

Saying which he seized Little Jim by the collar, dragged him out into
the street, and hurried him along. Presently he released him, but
without slackening his pace, and said, "Now, Jim, you an' I shall go and
pay _another_ wisit."

They traversed several small streets, which seemed to be influenced by a
tendency to gravitate towards the Thames; while the river, as if in
sympathy, appeared to meet them more than half way in the shape of mud.
As they proceeded, huge warehouses frowned above, having doors high up
on their blank faces where windows ought to have been, with no steps
leading thereto, but in some cases with huge block tackles pendent
therefrom, suggestive of the idea that the owners were wont to drop the
enormous hooks and fish for passers-by. These streets naturally became
more nautical in some respects as they neared the river. Old bits of
timber lay here and there among old cordage in little yards, where the
owners appeared to deal in small-coal and miscellaneous filth.
Elsewhere, worn-out anchors held tenaciously to the mud, as if afraid of
being again pressed into service and carried off to sea. Everything was
cold, dismal, dreary, disreputable; and here, in the dirtiest corner of
the smallest possible yard, the Bloater found a half-concealed door that
might have been the portal to a dog-kennel or pig-sty. Opening it he
entered, and Little Jim followed.

The aspect of things inside was not attractive. Dirt, damp, and rubbish
prevailed in the room, which was just big enough to permit of a tall man
lying down, but not high enough to admit of his standing up. An
uncommonly small four-post bed almost filled the apartment, at the foot
of which, on the floor and half-reclining against one of the posts, lay
Phil Sparks, either dead-drunk or asleep, or both.

The Bloater glanced back at Little Jim with a look of satisfaction, and
held up his finger to enjoin silence. Peering round the room, which was
lighted by a farthing candle stuck in the neck of a pint bottle, he
observed a piec