"Don't you trouble, my dear. That's all right. Things'll come round somehow. You're a good girl. Good-night, my darlin!"
He kissed her, and went consoled to his rest.
Miss Peckover kept going up and down between the kitchen and the front-door. Down below, Jane was cleaning a copper kettle. Clem, who had her sweetest morsel of cruelty yet in store, had devised this pleasant little job as a way of keeping the child employed till all was quiet. She had just come down to watch the progress of the work, and to give a smart rap or two on the toiling fingers, when a heavy footstep in the passage caused her to dart upstairs again. It was Bob Hewett, returned from his evening recreations.
"Oh, that's you, is it?" cried Clem. "Come down; I want to speak to you."
"Wait till to-morrow," answered Bob, advancing towards the stairs.
"Wait! we'll see about that!"
She sprang forward, and with a prompt
