child lies dying (as poor Tom lay, with his white wan lips
quivering, for want of better food than I could give him), does the
rich man bring the wine or broth that might save his life? If I am
out of work for weeks in the bad times, and winter comes, with black
frost, and keen east wind, and there is no coal for the grate, and
no clothes for the bed, and the thin bones are seen through the
ragged clothes, does the rich man share his plenty with me, as he
ought to do, if his religion wasn't a humbug? When I lie on my
death-bed and Mary (bless her!) stands fretting, as I know she will
fret," and here his voice faltered a little, "will a rich lady come
and take her to her own home if need be, till she can look round,
and see what best to do? No, I tell you it's the poor, and the poor
only, as does such things for the poor. Don't think to come over me
with th' old tale, that the rich know nothing of the trials of the
poor; I say, if they don't know, they ought to know. We're their
slaves as long as we can work; we pile up their fortunes with the
sweat of our brows, and yet we are to live as separate as if we were
in two worlds; ay, as separate as Dives and Lazarus, with a great
gulf betwixt us: but I know who was best off then," and he wound
up his speech with a low chuckle that had no mirth in it.

"Well, neighbour," said Wilson, "all that may be very true, but what
I want to know now is about Esther--when did you last hear of her?"

"Why, she took leave of us that Sunday night in a very loving way,
kissing both wife Mary, and daughter Mary (if I must not call her
'little'), and shaking hands with me; but all in a cheerful sort of
manner, so we thought nothing about her kisses and shakes. But on
Wednesday night comes Mrs. Bradshaw's son with Esther's box, and
presently Mrs. Bradshaw follows with the key; and when we began to