The church duties took Mrs Ruggles much away now, to the softening of these latter days of the poor child's life; and many and many an hour would Tim spend in the way described--hours which he had to work far into the night to redeem, when others were sleeping; so that the item of paraffin became so heavy in the domestic economy that Tim had to replenish the can on the sly, after the manner of the cod-liver oil bottle; and the consequence was, that his ordinary moderate amount of beer-money seldom found its way to the publican's. How swiftly sped those minutes spent with poor little Pine! and how slowly would the hours crawl on, when, with his shaded lamp throwing its glow upon his work, Tim would sit stitching patiently away like what he was--a little, shrunken, shrivelled tailor! Volume 1, Chapter XXII. TIM SEEKS SYMPATHY. "I don't know what to make of that child, ma'am," said Tim, on one of his visits to Duplex Street. "I'm afraid she's in a bad way, and that we ought to see another doctor;" and as he spoke he gazed vacantly at a guinea-pig on the hearth, a present from Monsieur Canau to one of the children, and brought from Decadia. "Then why not take her to one, Mr Ruggles?" said Mrs Jared, rather tartly, for she strongly disapproved of Tim's obedience to his better half. "Expense--expense--expense, ma'am," said Tim. "You see, Mrs Ruggles keeps the purse, and has her own ideas about money. Wonderfully clever woman; but I don't quite think she sees how bad poor little Pine is." "Mr Ruggles, I don't like your wonderfully clever women," said Mrs Jared; "they are not worth much generally. I like to see a woman clever enough to do her duty to her husband and family; and if she knows that, and does it well, she is quite clever enough to my way of thinking." "Gently, my dear, gently," said Jared; for Mrs Pellet was growing rather warm, and--as is peculiar to the female sex--loud; but Jared's words acted like oil, and his wife's feathers grew smooth directly. Some time had elapsed since Tim Ruggles had made his appearance in Duplex Street, for the trousers trade had been brisk, and he had been busy enough at home, while messages from the foreman of the shop for which he worked were constantly being borne to Carnaby Street to know "whether Ruggles meant to wear out that last pair of trousers as well as make them;" or, "if he did not mean to make those last two pair, to send them back and let somebody else." "When, you know," said Tim, "at my place it was all board; I had my breakfast on the board, my dinner on the board, my tea on the board, my supper on the board, and for two or three nights the only sleep I had was an hour or two when I lay down on the board; and once I dreamed that I was a sewing-machine, and that Mrs Ruggles was turning my handle, when she was only shaking my arm because it was morning, and time for me to be up and at work again."