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less, cheerless, never-ending work—not to heap up riches, not to live grandly or gaily, not to live upon enough, however coarse; but to earn bare bread; to scrape together just enough to toil upon, and want upon, and keep alive in us the conscious­ness of our hard fate! Oh Meg, Meg!” she raised her voice and twined her arms about her as she spoke, like one in pain.

“How can the cruel world go round, and bear to look upon such lives!”

“Lilly!” said Meg, soothing her, and putting back her hair from her wet face. Why, Lilly! You! So pretty and so young!”

“Oh Meg!” she interrupted, holding her at arm’s-length, and looking in her face imploringly. The worst of all, the worst of all! Strike me old, Meg! Wither me, and shrivel me, and free me from the dreadful thoughts that tempt me in my youth!”

Trotty turned to look upon his guide. But the Spirit of the child had taken flight. Was gone.

Neither did he himself remain in the same place; for Sir Joseph Bowley, Friend and Father of the Poor, held a great festivity at Bowley Hall, in honour of the natal day of Lady Bowley. And as Lady Bowley had been born on New Year’s Day (which the local newspapers considered an especial point­ing of the finger of Providence to number One, as Lady Bowley’s destined figure in Creation), it was on a New Year’s Day that this festivity took place.