freedom from care of his two and a half years, Pollyooly in spite of her anxiety about the future, and her grief at her aunt's death. During the rest of the meal she discussed with Mrs. Brown the prospects of getting work, when she should have lost her Temple posts. Mrs. Brown assured her with confident conviction that, as soon as Mr. Ruffin and Mr. Gedge-Tomkins learned of her aunt's death, they would insist on having a laundress—those who clean and cook in chambers in the Temple have from times immemorial borne the title of 'Laundress'—staider and of more trustworthy years; and Pollyooly sadly believed her.
After tea she took the Lump up to their attic and washed him. Then they sallied forth into their street, that little slum, much of it seventeenth century, on which the back windows of the middle block of the King's Bench Walk look down, and which is all that is left of the Alsatia of the Stuarts. It is not unlikely that in the very room in which they had eaten the funeral feast of buttered toast and jam, the great hero of the restoration, Colonel Blood, caroused, drinking the English sun to sleep, and lighting lamps that would have outburned the
