"I came by the train from Littlebourne," said Mrs. Rowles simply. "May I come in?" "Oh, you may come in if you care to," was the bitter reply. Mrs. Rowles looked round her as she entered, and was so much shocked at what she saw that for a few moments she could not speak. In the middle of the room was a square table, on which lay a mass of thick black silk and rich trimmings, which even Emma Rowles's country eyes could see were being put together to form a very handsome mantle suitable for some rich lady. A steel thimble, a pair of large scissors, a reel of cotton and another of silk lay beside the materials. In strong contrast to this beautiful and expensive stuff was the sight which saddened the further corner of the small room. Close under the sloping, blackened ceiling was a mattress laid on the floor, and on it a wan, haggard man, whom Mrs. Rowles supposed to be Thomas Mitchell, though she hardly recognized him. There was also another mattress on the floor. The blankets were few, but well-worn counterpanes covered the beds. A little washstand with broken crockery, a kettle, some jam-pots, and some medicine bottles were about all the rest of the furniture. All that she saw told Mrs. Rowles very plainly that her relations had fallen into deep poverty. "Why, Tom," she began, "I'm afraid you are ill." "Been ill these two months," he replied in a weak voice. "Sit down," said Mrs. Mitchell, pushing the best chair to her sister-in-law, and standing by the table to resume her work. "We did not know Tom was ill," said Mrs. Rowles. "I daresay not," answered Mrs. Mitchell. "I would have come sooner to see him if I had known." "Oh, it is no use to bother one's relations when one falls into misfortunes. It is the rich folks who are welcome, not the poor ones." "I hope you will make _me_ welcome," said Mrs. Rowles, "though I am not rich." "Well, you are richer than we are," remarked Mrs. Mitchell, softening a little, "and you are welcome; I can't say more. But I daresay if you had known what a place you were coming to you would have thought twice about it. Six months we have had of it. First there were the changes made at the printing-office, and then the men struck work, and there was soon very little to live on; for it's when the strike allowance doesn't come in so fast that the pinch comes." Mrs. Rowles looked round to see where the children could be hiding. Not a child's garment was to be seen, nor a toy. "Where are the children?" she asked, half fearing to hear that they were all dead.