policeman standing statue-like under the lamp on the opposite corner,
and apparently unaware of their existence. He was looking, sphinx-like,
past them towards the city.

"It can't be helped; we must put on front an' go on with it now," said
Bill.

"He's all right, I think," said Chinny. "He knows me."

"He can't do nothin'," said Bill; "don't mind him, Mrs Aspinall. Now,
then (to the push), tie up. Don't be frightened of the dorg-what are you
frightened of? Why! he'd only apologize if you trod on his tail."

The dog went under the cart, and kept his tail carefully behind him.

The policeman--he was an elderly man--stood still, looking towards the
city, and over it, perhaps, and over the sea, to long years agone in
Ireland when he and the boys ducked bailiffs, and resisted evictions
with "shticks," and "riz" sometimes, and gathered together at the rising
of the moon, and did many things contrary to the peace of Gracious
Majesty, its laws and constitutions, crown and dignity; as a reward for
which he had helped to preserve the said peace for the best years of his
life, without promotion; for he had a great aversion to running in "the
boys"--which included nearly all mankind--and preferred to keep, and was
most successful in keeping, the peace with no other assistance than that
of his own rich fatherly brogue.

Bill took charge of two of the children; Mrs Aspinall carried the
youngest.

"Go ahead, Chinny," said Bill.

Chinny shambled forward, sideways, dragging the horse, with one long,
bony, short-sleeved arm stretched out behind holding the rope reins; the
horse stumbled out of the gutter, and the cart seemed to pause a moment,
as if undecided whether to follow or not, and then, with many rickety
complaints, moved slowly and painfully up on to the level out of the
gutter. The dog rose with a long, weary, mangy sigh, but with a lazy
sort of calculation, before his rope (which was short) grew taut--which
was good judgment on his part, for his neck was sore; and his feet being
tender, he felt his way carefully and painfully over the metal, as if
he feared that at any step he might spring some treacherous, air-trigger
trap-door which would drop and hang him.

"Nit, you chaps," said Bill, "and wait for me." The push rubbed its
head with its hat, said "Good night, Mrs Ashpennel," and was absent,
spook-like.

When the funeral reached the street, the lonely "trap" was, somehow,
two blocks away in the opposite direc