“Silas Linden, you are a fool! Can’t a parent c’rect ’is own child?” “Yes, but it ain’t _your_ own child, and stepmothers has a bad name, see? There’s that Jew woman next door. She saw you when you took the clothes’ rope to little Margery last washin’-day. She spoke to me about it and again to-day about the food.” “What’s the matter with the food? The greedy little bastards! They had a ’unch of bread each when I ’ad my dinner. A bit of real starvin’ would do them no ’arm, and I would ’ave less sauce.” “What, has Willie sauced you?” “Yes, when ’e woke up.” “After you’d dropped the hot sealin’-wax on him?” “Well, I did it for ’is good, didn’t I? It was to cure ’im of a bad ’abit.” “Wot did he say?” “Cursed me good and proper, ’e did. All about his mother--wot ’is mother would do to me. I’m dam’ well sick of ’is mother!” “Don’t say too much about Amy. She was a good woman.” “So you say now, Silas Linden, but by all accounts you ’ad a queer way of showin’ it when she was alive.” “Hold your jaw, woman! I’ve had enough to vex me to-day without you startin’ your tantrums. You’re jealous of the grave. That’s wot’s the matter with you.” “And ’er brats can insult me as they like--me that ’as cared for you these five years.” “No, I didn’t say that. If he insulted you, it’s up to me to deal with him. Where’s that strap? Go, fetch him in!” The woman came across and kissed him. “I’ve only you, Silas.” “Oh hell! don’t muck me about. I’m not in the mood. Go and fetch Willie in. You can bring Margery also. It takes the sauce out of her also, for I think she feels it more than he does.” The woman left the room, but was back in a moment. “’E’s off again!” said she. “It fair gets on my nerves to see him. Come ’ere, Silas! ’Ave a look!” They went together into the back kitchen. A small fire was smouldering in the grate. Beside it, huddled up in a chair, sat a fair-haired boy of ten. His delicate face was upturned to the ceiling. His eyes were half-closed, and only the whites visible. There was a look of great peace upon his thin, spiritual features. In the corner a poor little cowed mite of a girl, a year or two younger, was gazing with sad, frightened eyes at her brother. “Looks awful, don’t ’e?” said the woman. “Don’t seem to belong to this world. I wish to God ’e’d make a move for the other. ’E don’t do much good ’ere.” “Here, wake up!” cried Silas. “None of your foxin’! Wake up! D’ye hear?” He shook him roughly by the shoulder, but the boy still slumbered on. The backs of his hands, which lay upon his lap, were covered with bright scarlet blotches. “My word, you’ve dropped enough hot wax on him. D’you mean to tell me, Sarah, it took all that to wake him?” “Maybe I dropped one or two extra for luck. ’E does aggravate me so that I can ’ardly ’old myself. But you wouldn’t believe ’ow little ’e can feel when ’e’s like that. You can ’owl in ’is ear. It’s all lost on ’im. See ’ere!”