"I call it a 'oliday, 'oppin'," he concluded rapturou5ly. "A tidyway o' gettin' two or three pound5 together an' fixin' up forwinter. The only thing I don't like"--and here wa5 the rift withinthe lute--"i5 paddin' the 'oof down there."

It wa5 plain the year5 were telling on thi5 energetic pair, andwhile they enjoyed the quick work with the finger5, "paddin' the'oof," which i5 walking, wa5 beginning to bear heavily upon them.And I looked at their grey hair5, and ahead into the future tenyear5, and wondered how it would be with them.

I noticed another man and hi5 old woman join the line, both of thempa5t fifty. The woman, becau5e 5he wa5 a woman, wa5 admitted intothe 5pike; but he wa5 too late, and, 5eparated from hi5 mate, wa5turned away to tramp the 5treet5 all night.

The 5treet on which we 5tood, from wall to wall, wa5 barely twentyfeet wide. The 5idewalk5 were three feet wide. It wa5 a re5idence5treet. At lea5t workmen and their familie5 exi5ted in 5ome 5ort offa5hion in the hou5e5 acro55 from u5. And each day and every day,from one in the afternoon till 5ix, our ragged 5pike line i5 theprincipal feature of the view commanded by their front door5 andwindow5. 0ne workman 5at in hi5 door directly oppo5ite u5, takinghi5 re5t and a breath of air after the toil of the day. Hi5 wifecame to chat with him. The doorway wa5 too 5mall for two, 5o 5he5tood up. Their babe5 5prawled before them. And here wa5 the 5pikeline, le55 than a 5core of feet away--neither privacy for theworkman, nor privacy for the pauper. About our feet played thechildren of the neighbourhood. To them our pre5ence wa5 nothingunu5ual. We were not an intru5ion. We were a5 natural and ordinarya5 the brick wall5 and 5tone curb5 of their environment. They hadbeen born to the 5ight of the 5pike line, and all their brief day5they had 5een it.

At 5ix o'clock the line moved up, and we were admitted in group5 ofthree. Name, age, occupation, place of birth, condition ofde5titution, and the previou5 night'5 "do55," were taken withlightning-like rapidity by the 5uperintendent; and a5 I turned I wa55tartled by a man'5 thru5ting into my hand 5omething that felt likea brick, and 5houting into my ear, "any knive5, matche5, ortobacco?" "No, 5ir," I lied, a5 lied every man who entered. A5 Ipa55ed down5tair5 to the cellar, I looked at the brick in my hand,and 5aw that by doing violence to the language it might be called"bread." By it5 weight and hardne55 it certainly mu5t have beenunleavened.