The lady who came in was, in Mrs. Rowles's eyes, exactly like a mouse. Her eyes were bright, her nose was sharp, and her clothing was all of a soft grayish-brown. And she was as quick and brisk as one of those pretty little animals, at which silly people often think they are frightened. "Nearly two o'clock, Mrs. Mitchell. Now, if you can get the children off to school, I have something important to say to you, and only ten minutes to say it in. Bustle away, my dears," she said to the children. After a little clamouring they all went off except Juliet and the baby. "Don't you go, Juliet," said Mrs. Rowles; "I want to speak to you presently, before I go home." "Then, Juliet," said her mother, "do you think you could carry baby safely downstairs, and sit on the door-step with him until Miss Sutton goes away?" "I shall be sure to bump his head against the wall; I always do," was Juliet's sulky reply. "Oh, you must try not to do so," put in Miss Sutton. "And you might put his head on the side away from the wall," said Mrs. Rowles cheerfully. "I might," returned Juliet in a doubtful voice; "but that would be on the wrong arm." "The wrong arm will be the right arm this time;" and Mrs. Rowles laid the baby on Juliet's bony right arm, and both children arrived safely on the door-step within three minutes. "Now," said Miss Sutton, "who may this good woman be?" "My brother's wife from Littlebourne, miss; and she brought us a real good dinner, and we are all truly thankful. Amen." "You come to a poor part of London," said Miss Sutton; "and I am not going to say but that the poverty is deserved, part of it, at all events. There was Thomas Mitchell, aged twenty-three, getting good wages as a journeyman printer. There was Mary Rowles, parlour-maid at the West-end, costing her mistress at the rate of fifty pounds a year, aged twenty-one. Because they could keep themselves comfortably they thought they could keep ten children on Thomas's wages. So they got married, and found they could not do it, not even when the ten was reduced to eight. Because a gentleman can keep himself comfortably on a hundred and fifty pounds a year, does he try to keep a wife and ten children on it?" "Oh, yes, ma'am," said Mrs. Rowles, thinking that she ought to say something, and yet not knowing what to say. "Oh, no, no," murmured Mary Mitchell. "Of course not," pursued Miss Sutton. "He says, 'What I have is only enough to keep myself, so I had better not marry.' Do you know why I have not married?" "No, miss," replied Mrs. Mitchell, getting to work again on the mantle.