doubt that the benevolent society lady was none other than a charming
and accomplished daughter of the House of Grinder.


It was late in the last day of the Easter Holidays, during which Arvie
Aspinall had lain in bed with a bad cold. He was still what he called
"croopy." It was about nine o'clock, and the business of Jones's
Alley was in full swing.

"That's better, mother, I'm far better," said Arvie, "the sugar and
vinegar cuts the phlegm, and the both'rin' cough gits out. It got out
to such an extent for the next few minutes that he could not speak.
When he recovered his breath, he said:

"Better or worse, I'll have to go to work to-morrow. Gimme the
clock, mother."

"I tell you you shall not go! It will be your death."

"It's no use talking, mother; we can't starve--and--s'posin' somebody
got my place! Gimme the clock, mother."

"I'll send one of the children round to say you're ill. They'll
surely let you off for a day or two."

"Tain't no use; they won't wait; I know them--what does Grinder Bros
care if I'm ill? Never mind, mother, I'll rise above 'em all yet.
_Give me the clock_, mother."

She gave him the clock, and he proceeded to wind it up and set the