Even then the boy sulked. He was of a class apparently for whom respectability has few kind words or looks, who, in this wicked world, get more kicks than half-pence. Respectability has quite enough to do to look after her own children, especially now that taxes and butchers’ bills and School Board rates, to say nothing of coals, run up to such formidable items, to give herself much trouble about the children of other people. I have myself little pity for the heartless vagabonds who bring children into existence merely that they may rot and die. Of the devilish cruelty of such fathers and mothers no tongue can give an adequate idea; hanging is too good for them. It is to them we owe the pauperism which, apparently, it is beyond the power of the State to cure. I am sick of the cant ever uttered of population _versus_ property; one is born of self-denial, industry, foresight, all the qualities which we as a nation require, while population is too often the result of unspeakable vice or consummate folly, qualities against which it becomes the nation to set its face. But I must not forget the actress. More tenderly and coaxingly she repeated the question. To the charm of that voice and manner resistance was impossible. Swallowing the rising tear with a great effort, slowly opening his eyes and mouth at the same time, and looking terribly frightened all the while, the poor lad replied: ‘Oh, ma’am, I’ve got such a pain in my head.’ ‘Of course you’ve got a headache, lying like that in the sun. Why don’t you get away and run home?’ ‘I ain’t got a home.’ ‘Then, what are you doing here?’ said the Mayor. ‘Nothin’,’ said the boy. ‘So it seems,’ said the Vicar. ‘Where’s your father?’ asked the actress, ‘I ain’t got one.’ ‘Then, where’s your mother?’ ‘Gone off with a tramp, and she took brother with her.’ ‘But why did not she take you as well?’ ‘’Cause she said I was big enough to earn my own wittles and drink. But I must be off; here comes a bobby,’ said the boy, frightened at the appearance of one of the town police. Alas! he was too weak to run; he had had no food all day, and his only bed by night had been under some old waggon or in some old barn or loft, and, barefooted, he fell an easy prey to the representative of law and order. ‘Now, you young rascal,’ said the policeman, as he gave the lad a good shaking, apparently in order to test the strength of his ragged clothes, and, if possible, to make matters worse, ‘get out of this, and be off,’ an order which the poor lad would have obeyed had not the actress held his hand. ‘You know him,’ said she to the policeman. ‘Know him! of course I do. It was only last week I had him up before the magistrate.’ ‘What for?’ ‘For sleeping in the open air, and now here he is again. ’Tis very aggrawatin’. What’s the use of trying to do one’s duty if this sort of thing goes on?’ ‘Is it a crime to sleep in the open air?’ asked the actress.