unless compelled to do so. The girl found the object of her walk in
a dirty little public-house at the corner of two foul and narrow
by-ways. She entered by a private door, and passed into a parlour,
which was behind the bar.

A woman was sitting in the room, beguiling her leisure with a Sunday
paper. She was dressed with vulgar showiness, and made a lavish
display of jewellery, more or less valuable. Eight years ago she was
a servant in Mr. Smales's house, and her name was Sarah. She had
married in the meanwhile, and become Mrs. Sprowl.

She welcomed her visitor with a friendly nod, but did not rise.

"I thought it likely you'd look in, as you missed larst week. How's
things goin' in your part o' the world?"

"Very badly," returned Harriet, throwing off her hat and cloak, and
going to warm her hands and feet at the fire. "It won't last much
longer, that's the truth of it."

"Eh well, it's all in a life; we all has our little trials an'
troubles, as the sayin' is."

"How's the baby?" asked Harriet looking towards a bundle of wrappers
which lay on a sofa.

"I doubt it's too good for this world," returned the mother,
grinning in a way which made her ugly face peculiarly revolting.
"Dessay it'll join its little brother an' sister before long. Mike
put it in the club yes'day."