"Lots," was the laconic reply. "I can give you enough names, without your going out of this street, to keep you busy for a week. There's a couple at No. 9, in the top room. They've pawned every stick they've got, and are sleeping on bare boards on the floor. I know they haven't had anything to eat for two days. But you won't want anything to do with them, I expect. The man's a thief by trade, and the woman--well, she's worse, and I know for certain they ain't husband and wife." "I don't care what they are," I replied hotly. "They're fellow-creatures, made of the same flesh and blood as we are, and they're in want. What name shall I ask for them by?" "Lowe," she said. "That's the name they go by, anyway." Thanking the good woman behind the counter for her help, I set out to find Mrs. Fred Frost. The door of No. 18, Cripps Court, was opened by a wan, haggard-looking woman, whom the summons had apparently disturbed in the act of suckling a sickly-looking baby, which she held on one arm, while the hand of her other arm was fumbling at the unbuttoned bosom of her dress. "Good morning," I said, raising my hat. "Can you tell me, please, if Mrs. Fred Frost is in?" "No, sir, she's not," she answered civilly; "her baby's dead, and she's gone to find her husband, who's trying to get a job at the docks." "Oh! Poor woman! I'm very sorry!" I said, gently. "The fact is, her name has been given me as one whose husband is out of work, and I ventured to call to see if she'd allow me to send in some groceries, and other things by way of being of some small assistance during the hard time. If you'll allow me, I'll call again." "She'll be very grateful to you, sir, I'm sure," the woman replied. "Having the child ill has made it very hard for her just lately." "Is there anybody else living here with whom things are going badly? If so, perhaps you'd tell me! I can't do very much, but what I can do, in the way of sending in some tea and some meat and a few groceries, I'd be very glad to." "Well, sir," answered the woman, "there's an old couple in the back room, living alone with their little grandson (the child's father and mother are dead). But they've gone out--all three of them--to try and get a relief ticket somewhere. If you were to ask for them when you come back to see Mrs. Frost, you'll see for yourself by the very look of them how things are. The little boy--he's all right. They've managed it, though I don't know how, between them, 'cept by starving themselves to give to him, for skin and bone is about all that's left of the two old people." "I'm very much obliged to you," I said. "And I shall venture, as I say, to call in again, perhaps in an hour's time. Good morning." "Good morning, sir, and thank you," she said quietly.