"I suppose," said Mr. Blows, still referring to his foe's parents, and
now endeavouring to make excuses for them--"I s'pose they was so pleased,
and so surprised when they found that you was a 'uman being, that they
didn't mind anything else."

He walked off with his head in the air, and the other men, who had
partially suspended work to listen, resumed their labours. A modest pint
at the Rising Sun revived his drooping spirits, and he walked home
thinking of several things which he might have said to the foreman if he
had only thought of them in time.

He paused at the open door of his house and, looking in, sniffed at the
smell of mottled soap and dirty water which pervaded it. The stairs were
wet, and a pail stood in the narrow passage. From the kitchen came the
sounds of crying children and a scolding mother. Master Joseph Henry
Blows, aged three, was "holding his breath," and the family were all
aghast at the length of his performance. He re-covered it as his father
entered the room, and drowned, without distressing himself, the impotent
efforts of the others. Mrs. Blows turned upon her husband a look of hot
inquiry.

"I've got the chuck," he said, surlily.

"What, again?" said the unfortunate woman. "Yes, again," repeated her
husband.

Mrs. Blows turned away, and dropping into a chair threw her apron over
her head and burst into discordant weeping. Two little Blows, who had
ceased their outcries, resumed them again from sheer sympathy.