“No, not exactly that. You know what dull means, don’t you?—low-spirited like—got nothing to talk about. Well, I can’t tell how it come about, but I was always dull, and have been so ever since. I got married soon after I was settled. My wife was a good sort of woman, but she wasn’t cheerful, and she wasn’t very strong. Somehow the business fell off. Customers as used to come didn’t come, and I got no new ones. I did my work pretty well; but still, for all that, things went down and down by degrees. I never could make out why, except that people liked to be talked to, and I had nothing particular to say to any of them when they came in. The shop, too, ought to have been painted more often, and I ought to have had something in the window, but, as I say, I was always dull, and my wife wasn’t strong. At last I was obliged to give up and go to journey-work; but when I got old I couldn’t see, and was put in here.” “But,” said Zachariah, “is that all? Why, you are nearly seventy years old. You must have something more to tell me.” “No. I don’t know as I have; that seems about all.” “But what became of your father? He was well off. What became of his money when he died?” “I’d had my share.” “Had you no brothers nor sisters to help you?” “Yes, I had some.” “Did they let you come here?” “Why, you see, as I’ve told you before, I was dull, and my wife wasn’t strong. They never came much to see me. It was my fault; I never had nothing to say to them.” “Had you no children?” “Yes, I had a son and daughter.” “Are they alive now?” “Yes—both of them; at least I haven’t heard as they are dead.” “And able to keep themselves?” “They used to be.” “And do you mean that your son and daughter let you go to the workhouse?” The old man was a little disturbed, and for a moment some slight sign of nervous excitement revealed itself in his lustreless eyes. “I haven’t see anything of ’em for years.” “Did you quarrel?” “No, we didn’t quarrel; but they left off visiting us. They both of them married, and went out a good bit, and were gayer than we were. We used to ask them, and then they’d look in sometimes: but never except when they were asked, and always seemed to wish to get away. We never had nothing to show anybody, nor nothing to give anybody; for we didn’t drink and I never smoked. They went away too, both of them, from Liverpool, somewhere towards London.” “But when you broke down didn’t you inform them?” “No. I hadn’t heard anything of them for so long. I thought I might as well get into the House. It will do very well.” “Didn’t you know anybody belonging to your church or chapel?” “Well, we went to church; but when the business dropped we left off going, for nothing much seemed to come of it, and nobody ever spoke to us.” “Wouldn’t you like to get out of this place?” “No—I don’t know as I should now; I shouldn’t know what to do, and it won’t last long.” “How old are you?” “Sixty-five.”