charring, and the man's a bricklayer. In the front, there's a man called
Glegg and his daughter. I fancy they're people that have been better off
at some time of their lives. He has been a tradesman--a cooper, he tells
me; but things went badly with him; and since he came here, his wife
died of the fever, and he's been so weakly ever since he had it, that he
can earn nothing. His daughter lives by her needle.'

Mary was out; she had gone to take home some work, in hopes of getting
immediate payment for it. A couple of shillings would purchase them coal
and food, and they were much in need of both. John was sitting by the
scanty fire, with his daughter's shawl over his shoulders, looking wan,
wasted, and desponding.

'Mr Benjamin, the landlord, Mr Glegg,' said Harker.

John knew they owed a little rent, and was afraid they had come to
demand it. 'I'm sorry my daughter's out, gentlemen,' he said. 'Will you
be pleased to take a chair.'

'Mr Benjamin is going round his property,' said Harker. 'He is proposing
to make a few repairs, and do a little painting and whitewashing, to
make the rooms more airy and comfortable.'

'That will be a good thing, sir,' answered Glegg--'a very good thing;
for I believe it is the closeness of the place that makes us country
folks ill when we come to London. I'm sure I've never had a day's health
since I've lived here.'

'You've been very unlucky, indeed, Mr Glegg,' said Harker. 'But you
know, if we lay out money, we shall look for a return. We must raise