Gum in her ordinary indoor dress, two basins in her
hand. The sight of her visitor appeared to occasion her surprise; she
uttered a faint scream, and nearly dropped the basins.
"Lawk a mercy! Is it Lydia Jones?"
Mrs. Jones had been drawing a quiet deduction--the clerk had said his
wife was out only to deceive her. She rose from her chair, and faced him.
"I thought you told me she was gone out?"
The clerk coughed. He looked at his wife, as if asking an explanation.
The meeker of the two women hastily put her basins down, and stood
looking from one to the other, apparently recovering breath.
"Didn't you go out?" asked the clerk.
"I was going, Gum, but stepped out first to collect my basins, and then
the rain came down. I had to shelter under the wood-shed, it was
peppering so."
"Collect your basins!" interjected Mrs. Jones. "Where from?"
"I put them out with scraps for the cats."
"The cats must be well off in your quarter; better than some children in
others," was the rejoinder, delivered with an unnecessary amount of
spite. "What makes you so out of breath?" she tartly asked.
"I had a bit of a fright," said the woman, simply. "My breath seems to
get affected at nothing of late, Lydia."
"A pity but you'd your hands full of work, as mine are: that's the best
remedy for fright," said Mrs. Jones sarcastically. "What might your
fright have been, pray?"
"I was standing, waiting to dart over here, when I saw a man come across
the waste land and make for Pike's shed," said Mrs.
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