There was a knock at the door. Clara found her father standing
there.
'Have you anything to tell me, my girl?' he asked in a subdued
voice, furtively regarding her.
'I shall go on Monday.'
He drew back a step, and seemed about to return to the other room.
'Father, I shall have to give Mrs. Tubbs the five shillings for a
few weeks. She's going to let me have a new dress.'
'Your earnin's is your own, Clara.'
'Yes; but I hope very soon to be able to give you something. It's
hard for you, having no work.'
John brightened wonderfully.
'Don't you trouble, my dear. That's all right. Things'll come round
somehow. You're a good girl. Good-night, my darlin'!'
He kissed her, and went consoled to his rest.
Miss Peckover kept going up and down between the kitchen and the
front-door. Down below, Jane was cleaning a copper kettle. Clem, who
had her sweetest morsel of cruelty yet in store, had devised this
pleasant little job as a way of keeping the child employed till all
was quiet.
She had just come down to watch the progress of the work, and to
give a smart rap or two on the toiling fingers, when a heavy
footstep in the passage caused her to dart upstairs again.
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