This time Mr Richard Dixie--Dicky Dix, as he was familiarly called-- verified the words of Mr Swift, the solicitor (Cripple and Swift, of Gresham-street), by staring hard at the shabby-looking little old man and his bag, and then coming a little way out to stare at the doorpost, to the surprise of old Ross. "It ain't broke," said the boy. "What isn't broke, sir?" said the old man, humbly. That `sir' was like so much nerve to one who did not need it; and, turning sharply to the old man, he gave another glance at the shabby bag. "Then what do you want to come a banging at the door with your old umbrelly for?" "I didn't see the bell, sir," said the old man, humbly. "Is--is your master in?" "Got anything to sell?" said the boy, sharply. "To sell, sir? Yes; a good deal. The market's been very bad lately. Is your master, Mr Ross, in?" "No, he ain't," said the boy, sharply. "Don't want any. Take your bag somewhere else. We gets ours at the stationer's." The old man stood aghast, for the boy gave his bag a kick and shut the door to sharply, without another word. "He's a quick, sharp boy," said the old man; "very impudent though. A regular London boy; and Luke's out. Well, well, well, I've come a long way to see him, and I can wait," and without another word, the old man seated himself patiently at the foot of the next flight of stairs, placing his bag beside him, and his green umbrella across his knees. PART THREE, CHAPTER TWO. IN TROUBLE. "Sage? What--down-stairs?" cried Mrs Portlock. "Don't say they're in trouble again, Joseph." "Why not?" said the Churchwarden, slowly. "Come along down, and make the poor girl some warm tea. She's been travelling all night, and has brought the two little ones with her." "I'll be down directly," said Mrs Portlock; "but what is the matter?" "Trouble, trouble, trouble," said the Churchwarden, slowly. "Hang the laws. I'd give something if I could take her away from him, and keep her at home, children and all. It would come a deal cheaper, old lady." "Oh, but you are too hard on him, Joseph, indeed you are. Cyril is very, very fond of her and his children." "Bah! I never knew him fond of anything but himself, and what money he could get." "There, if you are in that kind of temper, Joseph, it is of no use for me to speak to you. I'll be down directly; but won't Sage come up?" "No, I've made her lie down on the sofa by the fire. She's worn out, and the little ones are fast asleep. I've told the girls to hurry on the breakfast." "But how foolish of her to travel in the night. How did they come from the station?" "A man brought them in a cart. Poor things! they are half perished." "Dear, dear, dear, dear me," said Mrs Portlock, hastily dressing. "What troubles there are in this world." "Yes, if people make 'em." "But what is wrong with Cyril?" "Oh, nothing particular," said the Churchwarden, bitterly, "only he's in trouble again." "In trouble?"