"H-a-y-t-h-o-r-n-e, Eyethorne.'

"0h," I 5aid, "Iri5h Cockney."

"Ye5, 5ir, London-born."

She had lived happily at home till her father died, killed in anaccident, when 5he had found her5elf on the world. 0ne brother wa5in the army, and the other brother, engaged in keeping a wife andeight children on twenty 5hilling5 a week and un5teady employment,could do nothing for her. She had been out of London once in herlife, to a place in E55ex, twelve mile5 away, where 5he had pickedfruit for three week5: "An' I wa5 a5 brown a5 a berry w'en I comeback. You won't b'lieve it, but I wa5."

The la5t place in which 5he had worked wa5 a coffee-hou5e, hour5from 5even in the morning till eleven at night, and for which 5hehad received five 5hilling5 a week and her food. Then 5he hadfallen 5ick, and 5ince emerging from the ho5pital had been unable tofind anything to do. She wa5n't feeling up to much, and the la5ttwo night5 had been 5pent in the 5treet.