"Ah! That'll be a treat," he said holding out his hand to take it. "Can we have a light, Winny?" he said rather wistfully, half fearing that even now, he might be balked of his reading. Letty set the loaf and dripping down on the table, and went to a shelf in the corner and brought a lamp to the table. "Oh, yes, there is some oil in it," said her sister as she held it up to look at it. "Mother told me last night when she put it out that there was a nice drop left in it." Ninny was always the family remembrancer in these small household economies, for a lamp could not be burned wastefully, and so a careful record was kept as to how long a lamp had been burning. After a little discussion, it was decided that it would be best to have tea by firelight only, and light the lamp for father as soon as he had washed himself. This was done down in the little back yard, and when it was over, the lamp was lighted, and he sat down to the perusal of his paper. It was a rare treat for him to have a whole newspaper for his own reading, and he was soon deeply interested in what he read. When his wife came in from her day's work, he could hardly wait for her to sit down before he began to talk about the things which had taken his attention in the paper. "I say, mother, the House of Lords is having an inquiry into the sweating system," he said, speaking quite eagerly. The poor woman was very tired, and did not feel much interest in what her husband was talking about, but she said with a little show of interest, "What do you mean, Tom?" "Mean! Well, you'd know if you worked in the docks, where the foreman does nothing for his money but hunt us along, yelling, 'Shove up there, shove up!' And make twenty of us do the work of sixty, of course getting the other forty men's money for himself besides his own wages." "Why, how's that managed, father?" asked Winny quickly. While Mrs. Chaplin forgot her weariness as she said, "Tell us what you mean, Tom,—what this sweating is." "Well, look here, this is how we men get served—for we have it at the docks as bad as anywhere. We'll say a ship comes in to-morrow morning, a tea ship perhaps. The labour-master goes and looks at her, and says to the foreman, 'You'll want sixty for that job.' "'All right,' says Mr. Foreman, and at eight o'clock, he comes to the dock gates and picks out the strongest-looking chaps he can find among us-forty or fifty, perhaps. He takes 'em to the ship, and sets them to work till half-past ten. And then if they are fagged, and he don't think they'll be able to keep up the pace he wants them to work at, he pays them off for two hours' work, and then goes to the gates for another batch—sixty this time, most likely, because at eleven o'clock the labour-master will be round to see how they are getting on, and to see that the number of workers are all right.