Trinity Ward. We went first to a little court, behind Bell Street.
There is only one house in the court, and it is known as "Th' Back
Heawse." In this cottage the little house-things had escaped the
ruin which I had witnessed in so many other places. There were two
small tables, and three chairs; and there were a few pots and a pan
or two. Upon the cornice there were two pot spaniels, and two
painted stone apples; and, between them, there was a sailor waving a
union jack, and a little pudgy pot man, for holding tobacco. On the
windowsill there was a musk-plant; and, upon the table by the
staircase, there was a rude cage, containing three young throstles.
The place was tidy; and there was a kind-looking old couple inside.
The old man stood at the table in the middle of the floor, washing
the pots, and the old woman was wiping them, and putting them away.
A little lad sat by the fire, thwittling at a piece of stick. The
old man spoke very few words the whole time we were there, but he
kept smiling and going on with his washing. The old woman was very
civil, and rather shy at first; but we soon got into free talk
together. She told me that she had borne thirteen children. Seven of
them were dead; and the other six were all married, and all poor. "I
have one son," said she; "he's a sailmaker. He's th' best off of any
of 'em. But, Lord bless yo; he's not able to help us. He gets very
little, and he has to pay a woman to nurse his sick wife. . . . This
lad that's here,--he's a little grandson o' mine; he's one of my
dowter's childer. He brings his meight with him every day, an'
sleeps with us. They han bod one bed, yo see. His father hasn't had
a stroke o' work sin Christmas. They're badly off. As for us--my
husband has four days a week on th' moor,--that's 4s., an' we've 2s.
a week to pay out o' that for rent. Yo may guess fro that, heaw we
are. He should ha' been workin' on the moor today, but they've bin
rain't off. We've no kind o' meight i' this house bod three-ha'poth