Gladys again became silent, but she could not shut her eyes. Soon they
turned into another street, in which were even more people, though
evidently of a different order. The women were less showily dressed, and
many of them had their heads bare, and wore little shawls about their
shoulders. As they walked, the crowd became greater, and the din
increased. Some children Gladys also saw, poorly clad and with hungry
faces, running barefoot on the stony street. But she kept silence still,
though growing every moment more frightened and more sad.

'Surely this is a terrible place, Uncle Abel,' she said at last. 'I have
never seen anything like it in my life.'

'It isn't savoury, I admit; but I warned you. This is Argyle Street on a
Saturday night; other nights it is quieter, of course. Oh, he won't harm
you.' A lumbering carter in a wild state of intoxication had pushed
himself against the frightened girl, and looked down into her face with
an idiotic leer.

Gladys gave a faint scream, and clung to her uncle's arm; but the next
moment the man was taken in charge by the policeman, and went to swell
the number of the drunkards at Monday's court.

'Here we are. This is Craig's Wynd, or The Wynd, as they say. We have
only to go through here, and then we are in Colquhoun Street, where I
live. It isn't far.'

In the Wynd it was, of course, rather quieter, but in the dark doorways
strange figures were huddled, and sometimes the feeble wail of a child,
or a smothered oath, reminded one that more was hidden behind the