still.

He was looking at a boy of six, asleep at his feet on a pile of ashes
and cinder, which was not so bad a bed, for the gentle heat left in it
was as good as a lullaby, and Shakspeare long ago told us that sleep has
a preference for sitting by hard pillows. The child was an odd bit of
humanity. An accident at an early age had given it a hump, though
otherwise it was fair enough; and now perhaps society would have seen
there only an animal watching its sleeping cub. Presently the boy woke
and got on his feet, and began to walk toward the cold air with short,
uncertain steps, almost falling against a furnace door. The old man
jumped and caught him.

'Ta, ta, Nobby,' he said, 'what's thou doin'? Them's hotter nor cender.
Burnt child dreads fire--did knowst 'twas fire?'

He had a sort of language of his own, and his voice was singularly
harsh, as if breathing in that grimy place so long had roughened his
throat.

'There, go, Nobby, look thee out an' see howst black she is. Ta, but
it's hawt,' and he rubbed his forehead with his sleeve; 'it's a deal
pity this hot can nawt go out where's cold, an' people needin' it.
Here's hot, there's cold, but 'twill stay here, as it loved the place
'twas born--home, like. Why, Net, that thee?'

There was no door to the place to knock at or open, but the craunch of a
foot was heard on the coal outside, and a girl came in, moist and
shivering. The stoker set her down in a warm corner, and looked at her
now.

'Is thee, my little Net?' he repeated.

'Yes, and I've brought your breakfast, father; 'twas striking six before
I come in.'

'Too early, my girl, sleep her sleep out. Here's hot an' cosey like, an'
time goes, an' I could wait for breakfast, till I'm home. I'll nawt let
my little girl's sleep.'

'No, father, I couldn't sleep after five, anyway; and I thought I must
bring your breakfast to-day. You'll walk back through the cold easier
after something hot to eat.'

'That's my dear little girl. Shiverin' yet, she is. There, lay down on
this,' raking out a heap of fresh ashes, 'them warm an' soft like, an'
go ye to sleep till I go.'

'No, I must heat your coffee,' she answered, steadying the pot before
one of the furnaces with bits of coal.

''Ware that door doan' fly back an' hurt ye; them does so sometimes.'

'Yes, I'll be careful. Why, you've got Whitney here!'

'He come down to-night, Net. By himself, somehow, though I doan' knaw
how Lord kep' his short feet from