Dick rose from his bench, and went to the cupboard to see if there was a crust of bread and some butter to give to the boy; but it was quite empty, and he began to walk up and down, talking to himself. "It's very hard," he muttered dolefully; "but the more I try to get on the more I don't, and if things don't mend God knows what's to become of us. Poor Polly! she frets a deal, only she hides it; and as for Jessie--There, there, there, I can't bear to think of it!" he groaned. "I must have been a fool, and so can't get on." He scuffled back to his seat, for a familiar step was heard in the court; and, taking up his work, he began to sing merrily, after adjuring the boy to go on ahead. "Hollo, mother!" he cried, as his wife entered the room: "brought the money?" "No, Dick," said Mrs Shingle sadly; "they don't pay till next week." "Don't pay for a week!" said Dick, letting his hands drop, but recovering himself directly. "All right!" he cried,--"so much in store.--`Cheer up, Sam, and don't let your spirits go down,'" he sang. "I say, mother, ain't it time that Jessie was back?" "Yes," said Mrs Shingle sadly; "she'll be back soon. It's very hard, though, and it seems as if it never rained but it poured." "Never does," said Dick cheerily; "`So put up your gingham and drive away care,'" he sang. "Hang it, mother, I hope it won't really rain before she comes back. Did she take the big umbrella?" "No, father." "Ah! bad job; but never mind--perhaps it won't rain. Go along, Jack, my lad: you don't feel hollow inside now, do you?" "Yes, please, master--ever so much hollower," said the boy pitifully. "I never see such a boy," cried Dick. "Here, open the door, mother,-- it's Jessie. Hollo!" he cried, jumping up; "what's the matter?" "Oh, father, father!" sobbed the girl, running to his arms. "Why, my precious!" he exclaimed, patting her cheek, "what is it? Has any one dared? Oh, that's it, is it?" he muttered; for his brother, closely followed by his younger step-son, entered the room. VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER FOUR. A BROTHERS' QUARREL. Maximilian Shingle was a heavy, broad-faced man, very cleanly shaven, and with grey hair very smoothly brushed. His black suit was as glossy as a first-class undertakers, and he always wore an old-style bunch of seals beneath his vest, with which he played as he spoke, spinning them round, while his other hand flourished a black ebony stick, with a gold top and a good deal of tassel. Metaphorically speaking, there was a good deal of tassel all about Maximilian, for he swung and flourished about in his words and deeds, and always seemed to be more showy than substantial; and even now, when he was very white, and evidently in a towering passion, he flourished his seals and stick, and turned threateningly upon his brother; whilst the boy, who seemed to see in him a workhouse official or Poor-law guardian, softly stole into the back room, and surveyed the proceedings through the crack of the door.