you lend me a hand, Kit,
and make no more noise than you can help. The kitchen's through that
door; carry everything in there, and what's of no use fling out of the
window into the road."

Setting to with a will, we got the parlour and kitchen neat and proper,
plates washed, tiles wiped, pots and pans hung up, furniture furbished
up, and everything in its place in no time; then leaving me to light a
fire in the parlour, Dawson goes forth a-marketing, with a basket on his
arm, in high glee. And truly to see the pleasure in his face later on,
making a mess of bread and milk in one pipkin and cooking eggs in
another (for now we heard Moll stirring in her chamber), one would have
thought that this was an occasion for rejoicing rather than grief, and
this was due not to want of kind feeling, but to the fond, simple nature
of him, he being manly enough in some ways, but a very child in others.
He did never see further than his nose (as one says), and because it
gave him joy to have Moll beside him once more, he must needs think
hopefully, that she will quickly recover from this reverse of fortune,
and that all will come right again.

Our dear Moll did nothing to damp his hopes, but played her part bravely
and well to spare him the anguish of remorse that secretly wrung her own
heart. She met us with a cheerful countenance, admired the neatness of
the parlour, the glowing fire, ate her share of porridge, and finding
the eggs cooked hard, declared she could not abide them soft. Then she
would see her father work his lathe (to his great delight), and begged
he would make her some cups for eggs, as being more to our present
fashion than eating them from one's hand.

"Why," says he, "there's an old bed-post in the corner that will serve
me to a nicety. But first I must see our landlord and engage a room for
Kit and me; for I take it, my dear," adds he, "you will be content to
stay with us here."

"Yes," answers she, "'tis a most cheerful view of the river from the
windows."

She tucked up her skirt and sleeves to busy herself in household
matters, and when I would have relieved her of this office, she begged
me to go and bear her father company, saying with a piteous look in her
eyes that we must leave her some occupation or she should weary. She was
pale, there were dark lines beneath her eyes, and she was silent; but I
saw no outward sign of grief till the afternoon, when, coming from
Jack's shop unexpected, I spied her si