with Dawson, with Hall the butcher. Poor old John--poor old fellow!

When Bolderfield reached the paling in front of the Costrells' cottage,
he paused a moment, holding for support to the half-open gate and
struggling for breath. 'I must keep my 'edd, I must,' he was saying to
himself piteously;' don yer be a fool, John Borroful, don yer be a
fool!'

As he stood there, a child's face pushed the window-blind of the cottage
aside, and the lame boy's large eyes looked Bolderfield up and down.
Immediately after, the door opened, and all four children stood huddling
behind each other on the threshold. They all looked shyly at the
newcomer. They knew him, but in six months they had grown strange to
him.

'Arthur, where's your mother?' said John, at last able to walk firmly up
to the door.

'Don know.'

'When did yer see her lasst?'

'She wor 'ere gettin us our tea,' said another child; 'but she didn't
eat nothin.'

John impatiently pushed the children before him back into the kitchen.

'You 'old your tongues,' he said, 'an stay 'ere.'

And he made for the door in the kitchen wall. But Arthur caught hold of