The door closed again, and Master Sidney--a tall lad of fourteen, with long brown hair, brown eyes, and a white face--tore up the stairs two steps at a time, and dashed with but little ceremony into the dining-room, where the supper was laid by that time, and the juveniles were ranged round the table, large-eyed and hungry. A shout from the boys assembled there--"Here's Sidney Hinchford;" a reproof from a stiff-backed, white-haired old gentleman in the corner--"Where _have_ you been, boy?" a light-haired fairy in white muslin and blue sash darting towards him, crying, "Sidney, Sidney, I thought you were lost!" "So I have been--lost in the fog--such a mull of it! I'll tell you presently when I've spoken to pa' for a moment. And, oh! Harriet, here's--here's a little brooch I've bought, and with many happy, happy returns of the day from a tiresome playfellow, and--and--_stolen, by Jingo_!" The hand withdrew itself from the side pocket of his jacket, and was passed over the forehead, the lower jaw dropped, the brown eyes glared round the room, across at the opposite wall, and up at the gas branch--a two-burner of a bronze finger-post pattern,--and then Master Sidney doubled up suddenly and collapsed. CHAPTER II. MATTIE. Mrs. Sarah Jane Watts, better known to society and society's guardians by the cognomen of Mother Watts, kept a lodging-house in Kent Street. They who know where Kent Street, Borough is, and what Kent Street is like by night and day, can readily imagine that the establishment of Mrs. Watts was not a large one, or the prices likely to be high. Mrs. Watts' house, in fact, belonged not to Kent Street proper, but formed No. 2 of a cut-throat-looking court, crossing Kent Street at right angles. Here beds, or shares of beds, or shelves arranged horizontally under beds, were let out at twopence per head, or three-halfpence without the blankets, which were marked, "Stop Thief!" Whether Mrs. Watts did badly with her business, or whether business prospered with her, it was difficult to determine by the landlady's external appearance, Mrs. W. being ever in rags, ever full of complaints and--drink. "Times" were always hard with her--the police were hard with her--her Kent Street contemporaries were hard with her--didn't treat her fair, undersold her, put more in a bed and charged less--"split upon her when things weren't on the square. Kent Street wasn't what it was when she was a gal!" People constantly breathing the same atmosphere may notice a change in the "surroundings," but to common observers, or prying people paying occasional visits to this place, Kent Street seems ever the same--an eye-sore to public gaze, a satire on parish cleanliness and care, a disgrace to parish authorities in general, and landlords and ground landlords in particular.