her legs and feet protruded. Subject matter of great interest was there for this small watcher--huddled in the doorway, clutching her elbows with her bony fingers, and listening at the keyhole, or varying proceedings now and then by stepping on to the clammy pavement, and looking up, through the fog, at the lighted blinds, once or twice indulging in a flat-footed kind of jig, to keep her feet warm. She was one of few loiterers in Great Suffolk Street that uncomfortable night--men, women, and boys hurried rapidly past, and thinned in number as the night stole on--only a policeman slouched by occasionally, and dismayed her somewhat, judging by her closer proximity to Mr. Wesden's street door, whenever his heavy tread jarred upon her nerves. When the majority of the shops was closed, when the fog grew denser as the lights went out, and the few stragglers became more phantom-like and grey, quite a regiment of policemen marched down Great Suffolk Street, changing places at certain corners with those officials who had done day-duty, and glad to have done, for that day at least. The new policeman who crawled upon Mr. Wesden's side of the way, was a sharper man than he who had left off crawling, and gone home at a gallop to his wife and thirteen children; for the new-comer was not deceived by the deep-doorway and the dense fog, but reached forth a hand and touched the figure cowering in the shadows. A red-faced young man, with a bull neck, was this Suffolk Street official--an abrupt young man, who shook people rather violently by the shoulder, and hurt them. "Oh!--stash that, please," ejaculated the child, at last; "you hurts!" "What do you want here?" "Nothin' partickler. If the young gal inside knows I'm here, she'll send out somethin' prime. That's all. Last thing, afore she goes to bed, she comes and looks, mostly. She's a good 'un." "Ah! you'd better go home." "Can't manage to make it up tuppence--and square the last penny with Mother Watts. You know Mother Watts?" "Ah!" "Well, she's down upon me, Watts is--so I can't go home." "You must go somewhere--you can't stop here." "Lor bless you, this is the comfortablest doorway in the street, if you don't mind, p'leesman. I often turn in here for the night, and some of you fine fellers lets a gal bide, and ain't so down upon her as you are. You're new to this beat." "Am I, really?" was the ironical rejoinder. "You used to do Kent Street and stir up Mother Watts. You locked up Mother Watts once--don't you remember?" "Yes--I remember. Are you going?" "If you won't let a gal stay, o' course I am. They've got a jolly kick-up here--that gal with the blue frock's birthday--old Wesden's gal, as I just told you about--I wish I was her! Did you ever see her of a Sunday?" "Not that I know on." "Just like the little gals at the play--spruce as carrots--and gloves on, and such boots! Fust rate, I can tell you." "I wouldn't jaw any more, but go home," suggested the policeman.