to the nervous system; "I wish to Heaven you
wouldn't be so entêtée. The child is cared tor.
Why not be quiet, and let her alone?"

"Mamma," answered Mabel, softly, bending
her head down, and shading her eyes with her
hand, "suppose every one had been quiet, and
let us alone, when we were desolate!"

CHAPTER VI. A DISTRICT VISIT.

On the following Saturday, Mabel, accompanied
by Miss Fluke and her youngest sister,
a girl of about Mabel's own age, set forth on
her first experience as a district visitor. Not
without many misgivings, and much inward
trembling, did she commence her round. But
she put a brave front on the matter, and
resolved to be as little intrusive as possible,
and to embrace every opportunity, should any
be afforded her, of being helpful, and showing
sympathy as far as might be.

It is not necessary to follow her and her
companion through all the scenes of the morning.
Mabel soon discovered that, except in cases
where physical aid was rendered, in the shape
of food, medicine, or clothing, Miss Fluke's
appearance was generally the signal for a sturdy
tacit sullen resistance on the part of the poor
people whom she visited. Sometimes it flamed
out into open warfare. Sometimes it only
smouldered with a dull latent heat. But almost
always it seemed to be an accepted fact, that
Miss Fluke came like an invader into an enemy's
country, and that she meant fighting, and
had braced herself for the combat. There
were exceptions to this, of course. There were
whining canting hypocrites of the Pugley school,
who related their "experiences," and abused
their neighbours in true Mawworm fashion.
There were also several instances—and these
amongst the most sorely afflicted—of real
unaffected piety, which all Miss Fluke's coarse
handling was powerless to dim. Mabel was
particularly touched by the cheerful serenity of
one old blind bedridden man, who listened
eagerly to a chapter of the Bible, read aloud in
Miss Fluke's hardest and most controversial
tone, and who thanked her with unmistakable
heartiness when she had finished. Mabel,
to whom the chapter selected had appeared
singularly ill chosen for purposes of soothing or
consolation, could not resist asking the old man
privately if he had really liked that, and why?

"Liked it? Ah, sure, miss," said he, in a
tone of surprise. "Why, don't ye see that if
my fellow-creeturs thinks of me, and cares for
me, enough for to come and spend their time
a-reading and a-talking to a poor ignorant old
man such as me, how sure and satisfied it
makes me feel as our Father in Heaven—Him
as is all love and mercy—won't forget me
neither? Now, I dessay, I seems very lonely
to you, lyin' here dark all day; but I ain't;
not a bit lonely. I've allus lots to think about
and blessed thoughts too."

There were few such pleasant gleams of
light on the dreary disheartening round of visits;
but Miss Fluke seemed to accept the sullen
looks and scant courtesy with which she was
mostly received as part of the day's routine,
and indeed enjoyed any opportunity of displaying
her pugnacity and tenacity in the good cause.

When they came, in the course of their duty,
to New Bridge-street, Mabel left her friends at
the door of Mrs. Pugley's dwelling, that interesting
subject being laid up with sore-throat, and
Miss Fluke having brought in her pocket a
large tract andl a small pot of black-currant
jam, so as to administer at once to her spiritual
and bodily requirements. Mabel had stipulated
that she should be allowed to visit Corda Trescott
on this very first day of her new employment,
and had obtained the Misses Flukes' promise
that when they had finislted their visit at
Mrs. Pugley's they would call for her at Number
Twenty-three. They were, in fact, very willing,
and even eager to do so. Their young friend
had not thought it necessary to give them what
slight particulars she knew as to the Trescotts'
position and circumstances, but they had
learned from her the story of the accident, and
of Clement Charlewood's kindness to the child,
and were excessively curious to see little Corda.
Mabel Earnshaw saw her companions enter the
abode of Mrs. Pugley, and then ran swiftly
up the dirty street to Number Twenty-three.
She paused as if irresolute, and then knocked
lightly at the door, feeling that her heart was
beating a trifle more quickly than usual.

Mrs. Hutchins opened the door—which led
directly into the front kitchen, without any
intermediate passage and stood staring at Mabel,
with a mop in one hand and a pail of very dirty
hot water on the ground behind her. Mrs.
Hutchins was washing the brick floor of the
kitchen. It was Saturday, the day usually
devoted to a general "cleaning up" by the
ladies of New Bridge-street and its vicinity;
and Mabel had already experienced that morning
the wrathful indignation of several housewives
at being interrupted in that avocation.
Consequently, when she saw Mrs. Hutchins
throw the door wide open and stand before her
arrayed in full "cleaning up" costume—canvas
apron and bib, iron clogs, sleeves tucked up,
and a general tone of black-lead over her dress
and complexion—she was prepared to be not
very civilly received.

Mrs. Hutchins stood and looked at Mabel;
Mabel stood and looked at Mrs. Hutchins.
At length that lady said, slowly:

"Who might you be inquiring for, miss?"

"Does a gentleman named Trescott live here,
if you please?" said Mabel.

"Trescotts occkypies my first floor,"
returned Mrs. Hutchins, majestically.

"Is his little girl in, can you tell me?"

"Yes, and ever likely to be so."

Mabel was sufficiently well acquainted with the
phraseology of the lower orders in Hammerham
to understand that Mrs. Hlutchins did not by
any means intend to imply that Corda was a
prisoner to the house thenceforth for evermore,
but simply that, under the present circumstances,
it was natural that she should be in.