Thus adjured, Joan made a desperate effort to lift the box, but she was weak with agitation and could not stir it. “Carry yer things for yer, miss?” said one creature in a raucous whisper. “Don’t you mind him, miss,” put in another; “he’s a blooming area sneak, he is. You give ’em me.” “Hullo, Molly, does your mother know you’re out?” asked a painted-faced slut, who evidently had taken more to drink than was good for her; and so forth. For a few moments Joan bore it. Then she sank down upon the box and began to weep—a sight that touched the better feelings of some of the men, for one of them offered to punch the “blooming ’ead” of anybody who annoyed her. It was at this juncture that Joan, chancing to look up, saw a little pale-faced, straw-coloured woman, who was neatly dressed in black, pushing her way through the crowd towards her. “What is the matter, my dear?” said the little woman, in a small and gentle voice. “I have come from the country here to lodge,” answered Joan, choking back her tears; “and there’s nobody in the house except that dreadful person, and I don’t know where to go.” The little woman shook her head doubtfully; and at that moment once more the fiend in the area yelled aloud, “If you won’t get off thim steps, I’ll come and put you off. I’m caretaker here, and I’ll show you.” “Oh! what shall I do?” said Joan, wringing her hands. The sight of her distress seemed to overcome the scruples of the little woman; at any rate she bade one of the loafers lift the box and bring it across the street. “Now, my dear, take your bag and your umbrella, and follow me.” Joan obeyed with joy: just then she would have followed her worst enemy anywhere, also her new friend’s face inspired her with confidence. On the other side of the street the little woman opened the door of a house—it was No. 8—with a latchkey, and Joan noticed that on it was a brass plate inscribed “Mrs. Bird, Dressmaker.” “Go in,” she said. “No, I will settle with the man; he will cheat you.” She went in, and found herself in a tiny passage of spotless cleanliness; and, her baggage having been set down beside her, the door was closed, and the crowd which had accompanied them across the street melted away. “Oh! thank you,” said Joan. “What do I owe you?” “Threepence, my dear; it is a penny too much, but I would not stop to argue with the man.” Joan fumbled in her pocket and found the threepence.