"Don't give me any more of your don't knows. You've got no more sense than your mother; but I'm not going to let you grow up as idle and selfish as she is--not if I know it, I ain't. Stop your blubbering, and listen to me. You go to Charing Cross Station, you do, where all the lights are, and where everybody's happy. What are you shaking your head for?" "I don't know--I mean, I can't find my way, father." "I shall have to take you there; I'm only fit to be a slave. There you'll stand, with the lights shining on you. That'll be nice, won't it?" "Yes, father." "Nice and warm; and you get it for nothing, all for nothing. There's a treat I'm giving you! You stand in the gutter, mind that; and you ain't to look happy and bright. You're to try all you know to look miserable and hungry. Do you hear?" "I'll try to, father." "Ah, you'd better, or it'll be the worse for you! When an old gent or an old lady gives you a penny, don't you offer 'em a box; there's a lot of mean beasts that'd take it. You hold the boxes tight, and you bring me back not less than a bob for the six--not less than a bob, mind!" "Yes, father." "Here, I'll give you a lesson. Blest if we don't have a rehearsal! Stand there, in the gutter, and look miserable. I'm a gent. Hold out your hand. 'Here's a penny for you, little girl.' Take it--quick! and hold on tight to the matches. The gent goes away. I'm an old lady. 'My poor child, what brings you out at such an hour?' What do you say to the kind old lady?" "Father sent me out, please; and told me to stand in the gutter----" "Shut up! You're a born fool! What you say is this. Just you repeat after me. 'Kind lady----'" "'Kind lady!'" "'Father's dead----'" "'Father's dead!'" "'And mother's laying ill of a fever----'" "'And mother's laying ill of a fever!'" "'And baby's dying----'" "'And baby's dying!'" "''Cause we ain't had nothing to eat since yesterday----'" "''Cause we ain't 'ad nothink to eat since yesterday!'" "That's more like it. And then you can begin to cry. Have you got that in your head?" "Yes, father." "Come along, then, and step out. I'll keep my eye on you to see how you do it." Taking Little Prue by the hand, he led her out of Roxy's Rents into the wider thoroughfares, to play her part in the sad drama of poverty that runs its everlasting course from year's end to year's end in this City of Unrest. CHAPTER XII. "Drip-Drip-Drip!" As they issued from the hooded portal of Roxy's Rents, a woe-stricken woman approached the alley, and looked wearily around. Dark as was the night, and though years had passed since she had visited the locality, she had found her way without inquiry; but her steps faltered at the entrance to the narrow court, and her manner was that of one who was uncertain of the errand she had undertaken. To resolve her doubts, she accosted a young girl about to pass her: "This is Roxy's Rents, isn't it?" "Yes," replied the girl. "Can you tell me if Mrs. Flower lives here?"