Time passed, and the world went on as usual. George got work at his old shop, and worked hard through the ensuing spring and summer. At that time, murmurs of discontent began to be heard among the builders and carpenters--not only among them, but among the workers in nearly every other trade as well. Labour was on the strike all over the country, and one trade quickly followed the example of another. Jim himself began to murmur; he wanted to know what he was to do when he got old, and couldn't work--for he had found it impossible to put by money for a rainy day. 'Go to the workhouse, I suppose,' he said bitterly. But Mrs. Naldret said, 'Let be, Jim, let be; what's the use of looking forward? We should be happy enough as it is if it wasn't for George's misfortune. Poor lad! all the salt seems to have gone out of his life.' In the summer the crisis occurred in the trade; and Jim Naldret came home one day with his hands in his pockets, and said, 'Well, mother, do you want any washing done? I'm on strike.' 'Jim! Jim!' cried Mrs. Naldret 'What have you done? Remember Saul Fielding.' 'Saul Fielding wasn't so wrong, after all,' said Jim; 'I was a bit too hard on him. I can't help myself, mother. I'm obliged to turn out with the others.' It was well for them that during this time George had saved a little money; but although he gave them every penny he had saved, and although they pledged nearly everything of value they had in the house, they were in debt when the strike was at an end. 'It'll be spring before we're clear, mother,' said Jim; 'we've got to pay this and that, you know.' Mrs. Naldret knew it well enough, and she began to pinch and save; this little family fought the battle of life well. Old Ben Sparrow, of course, suffered with the rest. Trade grew duller and duller, and he drifted steadily, got from bad to worse, and from worse to worse than that. Autumn came, and passed, and winter began to make the poor people shiver; for coals were at a wicked price. Down, down, went old Ben Sparrow; sadder and sadder grew his face; and one day, within a fortnight of Christmas--alas! it was just a year from the time when George was nearly going away--Bessie heard a loud and angry voice in the shop. She hurried in, and saw her grandfather trembling behind the counter. The man who had uttered the angry words was quitting the shop. Bessie asked for an explanation. 'It's the landlord, my dear,' he sobbed upon her shoulder, 'it's the landlord. I've been behindhand with the rent ever so long, and I've promised him and promised him, hoping that trade would improve, until he's quite furious, and swears that he'll put a man in possession to-morrow morning.' 'And you can't pay him, grandfather?' 'Bessie, my darling,' sobbed old Ben; 'there isn't eighteenpence in the house, and I owe other money as well. I'm a ruined man, Bessie, I'm a ruined man! And you, my dear!--O, dear! O, dear! what is to become of us?'