She had left her box in the cloak-room, for she did not know if her father would have her at home. Her mother would tell her what she thought, but no one could say for certain what he would do. If she brought the box he might fling it after her into the street; better come without it, even if she had to go back through the wet to fetch it. At that moment another gust drove the rain violently over her, forcing it through her boots. The sky was a tint of ashen grey, and all the low brick buildings were veiled in vapour; the rough roadway was full of pools, and nothing was heard but the melancholy bell of the tram-car. She hesitated, not wishing to spend a penny unnecessarily, but remembering that a penny wise is often a pound foolish she called to the driver and got in. The car passed by the little brick street where the Saunders lived, and when Esther pushed the door open she could see into the kitchen and overhear the voices of the children. Mrs. Saunders was sweeping down the stairs, but at the sound of footsteps she ceased to bang the broom, and, stooping till her head looked over the banisters, she cried-- "Who is it?" "Me, mother." "What! You, Esther?" "Yes, mother." Mrs. Saunders hastened down, and, leaning the broom against the wall, she took her daughter in her arms and kissed her. "Well, this is nice to see you again, after this long while. But you are looking a bit poorly, Esther." Then her face changed expression. "What has happened? Have you lost your situation?" "Yes, mother." "Oh, I am that sorry, for we thought you was so 'appy there and liked your mistress above all those you 'ad ever met with. Did you lose your temper and answer her back? They is often trying, I know that, and your own temper--you was never very sure of it." "I've no fault to find with my mistress; she is the kindest in the world--none better,--and my temper--it wasn't that, mother--" "My own darling, tell me--" Esther paused. The children had ceased talking in the kitchen, and the front door was open. "Come into the parlour. We can talk quietly there.... When do you expect father home?" "Not for the best part of a couple of hours yet." Mrs. Saunders waited until Esther had closed the front door. Then they went into the parlour and sat down side by side on the little horsehair sofa placed against the wall facing the window. The anxiety in their hearts betrayed itself on their faces. "I had to leave, mother. I'm seven months gone." "Oh, Esther, Esther, I cannot believe it!" "Yes, mother, it is quite true." Esther hurried through her story, and when her mother questioned her regarding details she said-- "Oh, mother, what does it matter? I don't care to talk about it more than I can help." Tears had begun to roll down Mrs. Saunders' cheeks, and when she wiped them away with the corner of her apron, Esther heard a sob.