talk, we found Esther told her she was coming back to live with us,
and would pay her week's money for not giving notice; and on Tuesday
night she carried off a little bundle (her best clothes were on her
back, as I said before) and told Mrs. Bradshaw not to hurry herself
about the big box, but bring it when she had time. So, of course,
she thought she should find Esther with us; and when she told her
story, my missis set up such a screech, and fell down in a dead
swoon. Mary ran up with water for her mother, and I thought so much
about my wife, I did not seem to care at all for Esther. But the
next day I asked all the neighbours (both our own and Bradshaw's)
and they'd none of 'em heard or seen nothing of her. I even went to
a policeman, a good enough sort of man, but a fellow I'd never
spoken to before because of his livery, and I asks him if his
'cuteness could find anything out for us. So I believe he asks
other policemen; and one on 'em had seen a wench, like our Esther,
walking very quickly, with a bundle under her arm, on Tuesday night,
toward eight o'clock, and get into a hackney coach, near Hulme
Church, and we don't know th' number, and can't trace it no further.
I'm sorry enough for the girl, for bad's come over her, one way or
another, but I'm sorrier for my wife. She loved her next to me and
Mary, and she's never been the same body since poor Tom's death.
However, let's go back to them; your old woman may have done her
good."

As they walked homewards with a brisker pace, Wilson expressed a
wish that they still were the near neighbours they once had been.

"Still our Alice lives in the cellar under No. 14, in Barber Street,
and if you'd only speak the word she'd be with you in five minutes
to keep your wife company when she's lonesome. Though I'm Alice's