door and enter.

The ironing-table was spread, and upon a half-finished shirt lay a
little pile of money. Teddy knew that it was the wages owing him
since the last payment, and turned away his eyes with loathing.

Mrs. Ginniss was lying upon the bed, her face buried in the pillow,
sobbing heavily and wearily, as if exhausted by excessive emotion.

Teddy closed the door softly, and stood looking at her, uncertain
whether she had heard him enter. In the room below, the little child
of the new tenants sung, at her play, an air that Cherry had often
sung.

Teddy listened, and, when the little song was done, cried out,--

"O mother! haven't you a word for me? I believe I'll go mad next."

"Don't be spakin' to me, you bowld, bad b'y! It's niver a word I
have for yees, or wants from yees!" sobbed Mrs. Ginniss.

Teddy looked at her drearily for a moment; then softly seated
himself, his hands folded listlessly in his lap, his eyes wandering
idly about the familiar room, and his mind journeying on and on in
the weary, mechanical manner of a mind over-wrought and stunned by
long-continued or excessive suffering.

From the street below rose the hum and bustle of city life; from the
room that had been Giovanni's, the voice of the child, still singing
at her play. In at the open window streamed the thick yellow