The children ran about the court or played in the gutter, barefooted and bareheaded. Poor little things! there was nobody in Primrose Place to love or care for them, or teach them to be good. Their mothers would not be troubled by them, and the children kept out of their way as much as possible, and, of course, got into that of every body else. This was the cause of a great deal of quarrelling among the mothers, because, although they didn't care for their children themselves, they wouldn't let any one else find fault with them. At the present time three or four boys were playing at buttons. One of them accused another of cheating, which he denied. This led to angry words, then to blows, when suddenly one of the mothers called out:---"'Ere, you Tom, just you leave my Bill alone, or I'll warm yer!" This was taken up by Tom's mother, and the women fought the children's battle. In such scenes the children of Primrose Place grew up---miserable, dirty, and generally neglected. Sitting alone on the pavement that evening, huddled close to the wall, was a little boy of six or seven years of age. His fair hair hung in tangled curls all round his head. His clothes, which had never been made for him, were much too large, and so ragged that they could scarcely hold together. As he sat there, with his little bare feet stretched out on the pavement, he seemed to be watching for somebody, for he kept continually; looking towards the end of the court which opened out on to the main road. All at once he started up eagerly as [the one for whom he had been watching turned the corner.] This was his brother, a boy about ten years of age, a tired, miserable-looking little fellow, carrying in his hand a broom. He had been spending the day trying to earn a few pence by sweeping a crossing. His anxious face changed the instant he caught sight of his little brother, for these two were all the world to each other. "I'm so glad you've come 'ome Bob," said Willie. "I've been waitin' such a long time for yer." "Poor little chap! I'm a bit late to-day, and I s'pose yer feel lonely. Ain't yer 'ad no one to play with?" "No," he replied. "All the boys tease and make such a noise. It makes my 'ead ache. But it's all right now you've come 'ome," he added cheerfully. Bob looked down at the fragile little figure at his side and a great lump seemed to rise in his throat, almost choking him, as he thought how thin Willie was; and he wished that he could make haste and grow up to be a man, so that he could earn a lot of money and buy nice things for him to eat. "But s'pose Willie should die before then!" The thought was too dreadful, and he put it away directly it came. "See, Willie," he said, "what I've got for yer!" and he held up a large penny bun before the child. Willie clapped his hands. "Oh, Bob, is that for me, really? Let's sit down 'ere and eat it."