Mrs. Carter was rubbing up some brass candlesticks. Work ran short with her that week, and therefore she spent it in cleaning, which was her notion of taking holiday; scrubbing and scouring from morning till night. She turned round and stared at Mrs. Cross, who, with white face and gasping breath, had sunk down upon a chair. "What on earth's the matter?" "Abbott has brought it out to my husband that I owes nine weeks' rent, and he's telling him about Bankes's, and now he has gone and put a bum into the house!" "More soft you, to have had to do with Bankes's!" was the sympathy offered by Mrs. Carter. "You couldn't expect nothing less." "That old skinflint, Abbott----" Mrs. Cross stopped short. She opened the staircase door about an inch, and humbly twisted herself through the aperture. Who should be standing there to hear her, having followed her in, but Mr. Abbott himself. He had no need to say, "Ready, Mrs. Carter?" Mrs. Carter always was ready. She paid him weekly, and asked no favour. The payment made, he departed again, and Mrs. Cross emerged from her retreat. "_You_ can pay him!" she exclaimed, with some envy. "And Timothy's out o' work, too; and you be slack. How do you manage it?" "I'm not a fool," was the logical response of Mrs. Carter. "If I spent my earnings when they are coming in regular, or let Tim keep his to his own cheek, where should we be in a time like this? I have my understanding about me." Mrs. Carter did not praise her understanding without cause. Whatever social virtues she may have lacked, she was rich in thrift, in forethought. Had Timothy remained out of work for a twelvemonth, they would not have been put to shifts. "I'm afraid to go back!" cried Mrs. Cross. "So should I be, if I got myself into your mess." The offered sympathy not being consolatory to her present frame of mind, Mrs. Cross departed. Home, at present, she dared not go. She went about Honey Fair, seeking the gossiping pity which Elizabeth Carter had declined to give, but which she was yearning for. Thus she spent an hour or two. Meanwhile the news had been spreading through Honey Fair, "Crosses had the bums in;" and Mary Ann, hearing it, flew home to know whether it was correct. She--partly through fear, partly in the security from paternal correction, imparted to her by the feeling that she was Mary Ann Tyrrett, and no longer Mary Ann Cross--yielded to her father's questions, and made full confession. Debts here, debts there, debts everywhere. Cross was overwhelmed; and when his wife at length came in, he quietly knocked her down. The broker advanced to the rescue. "If you dare to come between man and wife," raved Cross, lifting his arm menacingly, "I'll serve you the same." He was a quiet-tempered man, but this business had terribly exasperated him. "You'll come to die in the work'us," he uttered to his wife. "And serve you right! It's your doings that have broke up our home."