To save her strength, she cut the cords with which her trunk was bound with a kitchen knife, borrowed from Mrs Gowler for this purpose. She took from this box such articles as she might need for the night. Amongst other things, she obtained the American clock which had belonged to her old friend Miss Nippett. Mr Poulter, to whom the accompanist had left her few possessions, had prevailed on Mavis to accept this as a memento of her old friend. Mavis toiled up the stairs with an armful of belongings, preceded by Mrs Gowler carrying the lamp, the woman impressed at the cut and material of which her last arrival's garments were made. When Mavis had wound up the clock and placed it on the mantelpiece, and, with a few deft touches, had made the room a trifle less repellent, she saw her landlady come into the room with three bottles and two glasses (one of these latter had recently held stout) tucked under her arms. "I thought we'd 'ave a friendly little chat, my dear," remarked Mrs Gowler, as if to explain her hospitality. Just then, Mavis's heart ached for the sympathy and support of some motherly person in whom she could confide. A tender word, a hint of appreciation of her present extremity, would have done much to give her stay for the approaching dread ordeal. Perhaps this was why, for the time being, she stifled her dislike of Mrs Gowler and submitted to the woman's presence. Mrs Gowler unscrewed a bottle of stout, poured herself out a glass, drank it at one draught, and then half filled a glass for Mavis. "Drink it, my dear. It will do us both good," cried Mrs Gowler, who already showed signs of having drunk more than she could conveniently carry. Mavis, not to seem ungracious, sipped the stout as she sat on the bed. "'Ow is it you ain't in a proper nursing 'ome?" asked Mrs Gowler, after she had opened the second bottle. "Aren't I?" asked Mavis quickly. "I've 'eard of better," answered Mrs Gowler guardedly. "Though, after all, I may be a better friend to you than all o' them together, with their doctors an' all." "Indeed!" remarked Mavis, wondering what she meant. "But that's tellin's," continued Mrs Gowler, looking greedily at Mavis from the depths of her little eyes. "Is it?" "Babies is little cusses; noisy, squally little brats." "Not one's own." "That's what I say. I love the little dears. Gawd's messages I call them. All the same, they're there, as you might say. An' yer can't explain them away." "True," smiled Mavis. "An' their cost!" grumbled Mrs Gowler, as she drained the second bottle by putting it to her lips. "They simply eat good money, an' never 'ave enough." "One must look after one's own," remarked Mavis. "Little dears! 'Ow I love their pretty prattle. It makes me think of 'eavens an' Gawd's angels," said Mrs Gowler. Then, as Mavis did not make any remark, she added: "Six was born 'ere last week." "So many!" "But onny three's alive." "The other three are dead!"