"Ah, poor girl," said Mrs Chopper, with a sigh, as Nancy disappeared. "You are a good boy, Peter; I like to see boys not too fond of money, and if she had taken it (and I wish she had, poor thing) I would have made it up to you." "Is the man she calls Bill her husband?" inquired Joey. "Oh, I know nothing about other people's husbands," replied Mrs Chopper, hastily. "Now then, let us go and order the clothes, and then you'll be able to go to church on Sunday; I will do without you." "What, won't you go to church?" "Bless you, child! who is to give the poor men their breakfast and their beer? A bumboat-woman can't go to church any more than a baker's man, for people must eat on a Sunday. Church, like everything else in this world, appears to me only to be made for the rich; I always take my Bible in the boat with me on Sunday, but then I can't read it, so it's of no great use. No, dear, I can't go to church, but I can contrive, if it don't rain in the evening, to go to meeting and hear a little of the Word; but you can go to church, dear." A suit of blue cloth, made in sailor's fashion, having been ordered by Mrs Chopper, she and Joey returned home; and, after their tea, Mrs Chopper desired Joey to hand her one of the account-books, which she put upon her knees and opened. "There," said she, looking at the page, "I know that account well; it was Tom Alsop's--a fine fellow he was, only he made such a bad marriage: his wife was a very fiend, and the poor fellow loved her, which was worse. One day he missed her, and found she was on board another vessel; and he came on shore, distracted like, and got very tipsy, as sailors always do when they're in trouble, and he went down to the wharf, and his body was picked up next day." "Did he drown himself?" "Yes, so people think, Peter; and he owed me 1 pound, 3 shillings, 4 pence, if I recollect right. Aren't that the figure, Peter?" "Yes, ma'am," replied Joey; "that's the sum total of the account, exactly."