"I'm very bad," whispered the other, drawing her breath as if in
pain.

"Ay, you've got a bad cold, that's what it is. I'll make you some
gruel presently, and put some rum in it. You don't take care of
yourself: I told you how it 'ud be when you came in with those
wringin' things on, on Thursday night."

"They've found out about me at the school," gasped Lotty, with a
despairing look, "and Ida's got sent away."

"She has? Well, never mind, you can find another, I suppose. I can't
see myself what she wants with so much schoolin', but I suppose you
know best about your own affairs."

"Oh, I feel that bad! If I get over this, I'll give it up--God help
me, I will! I'll get my living honest, if there's any way. I never
felt so bad as I do now."

"Pooh!" exclaimed the woman. "Wait a bit till you get rid of your
sore throat, and you'll think different. Poorly people gets all
sorts o' fancies. Keep a bit quiet now, and don't put yourself out
so."

"What are we to do? I've only got a few shillings--"

"Well, you'll have money again some time, I suppose. You don't
suppose I'll turn you out in the streets? Write to Fred on Monday,
and he'll send you something."