in the top room when she entered, for her parents were out. A remnant of
fire was in the grate, and the teapot had been left on the fender to keep
warm. Fan poured herself out some tea and drank it thirstily; then
hanging her dress over a chair to dry by the heat of the embers, and
nestling into her rickety bed in the corner, she very quickly fell
asleep. From her sleep she was at length roused by Mrs. Clark, the
landlady, who with her husband and children inhabited the ground-floor.

"When did you come in, Fan?" she asked.

"I think it was half-past seven," said the girl.

"Well, your mother went out earlier than that, and now it's half-past
ten, and she not in yet. It's a shame for them always to stay out like
that when they've got a bit of money. I think you'd better go and see if
you can find her, and make her come in. She went to buy the dinner, and
look for Joe in Crawford Street. That's where you'll find her, I'm
thinking."

Fan rose obediently, shivering with cold, her eyes still heavy with
sleep, and putting on her damp things went out into the streets again. In
a few minutes she was in Crawford Street. It is long, narrow, crooked,
and ill-paved; full of shops, but of a meaner description than those in
the adjacent thoroughfare, with a larger proportion of fishmongers,
greengrocers, secondhand furniture and old clothes sellers. Here also was
a Saturday evening market, an overflow from the Edgware Road, composed
chiefly of the poorer class of costermongers--the vendors of cheap
damaged fruits and vegetables, of haddock and herring, shell-fish, and
rabbits, the skins dangling in clusters at each end of the barrow.
Public-houses were numerous here; on the pavement before them groups of