"Old Simes stuck to it, sir. I went to him on the werry night after I had seen Master Hinchford, and he said he'd sold it for tenpence, but he'd try and get it back for me, which he never did, sir--never." "No--I suppose not," was the dry response. "And the next day I caught the fever, and got in the workus, somehow; and when I came back to Kent Street, last week that was, old Simes had seen nothin' more of the brooch, and Mother Watts had forgot all about it--so she said!" was the disparaging comment. "And you came hither to tell us all this?" "Yes--I thought you'd like to know I _did_ try, and that they were too deep for me. My eye! they just are deep, those two!" "Why didn't you stay in the workhouse?" "Can't bide the workus, sir--they drop upon you too much. It's the wust place going, sir, and no one takes to it." "You're an odd girl." Mr. Hinchford leaned his back against the door-post, and surveyed the ragged and forlorn girl on the lower stair. He was perplexed with this child, and her wistful eyes--keen and glittering as steel--made him feel uncomfortable. Here was a mystery--a something unaccountable, and he could not probe to its depths, or tell which was false and which was genuine in the character of this motherless girl before him. He had prided himself all his life in being a judge of character--a man of observation, who saw the flaw in the diamond--the real face behind the paint, varnish, and pasteboard. He had judged his own brother in times past--he had mixed much with the world, and gleaned much from hard experience thereof, and yet a child like this disturbed him. He fancied that he could read a struggle for something better and more pure in Mattie's life, and that Fate was against her and drawing her back to the shadows from which she, as if by a noble instinct, was endeavouring to emerge. He felt curious concerning her. "What do you intend to do now?" "Lor, sir, I don't know. It depends upon what turns up." "You will not thieve any more?" "Not if I can help it--but if I can't help it, sir, I must go to school at Simes's. He teaches lots of gals to get a living!" Mr. Hinchford shuddered. There was a pause, during which the head of Master Hinchford peered through the door to note how affairs were progressing. The father detected the movement, and when the head was hastily withdrawn, he drew the door still closer, and retained a grip of the handle for precaution's sake. "You don't know what your next step will be? You'll try to live honestly, you say?" "I'll try the ingun dodge. You get's through a heap of inguns at a ha'penny a lot, if the perlice will ony let you be." "And your stock in trade?" "What's that?" "How will you begin? Where are the onions to come from?" "I shall sing for them to-morrow--my woice is comin' round a bit, Mother Watts says."