vided them. Two or three of the houses had notices of rooms to let, and the new-comers knocked at the door of one, which a woman opened.
"Ah—listen!" said Jude, suddenly, instead of addressing her.
"What?"
"Why, the bells. What church can that be? The tones are familiar."
Another peal of bells had begun to sound out at some distance off.
"I don't know!" said the landlady, tartly. "Did you knock to ask that?"
"No; for lodgings," said Jude, coming to himself.
The householder scrutinized Sue a moment. "We haven't any to let," said she, shutting the door.
Jude looked discomfited, and the boy distressed. "Now, Jude." said Sue, "let me try. You don't know the way."
They found a second place hard by; but here the occupier, observing not only Sue, but the boy and the small children, said, civilly, "I am sorry to say we don't let where there are children," and also closed the door.
The small child squared his mouth and cried silently, with an instinct that trouble loomed. The boy sighed. "I don't like Christminster!" he said. "Are the great, old houses jails?"
"No; colleges," said Jude; "which perhaps you'll study in some day."
"I'd rather not!" the boy rejoined.
"Now we'll try again," said Sue. "I'll pull my cloak more round me.... Leaving Kennetbridge for this place is like coming from Caiaphas to Pilate!... How do I look now, dear?"
"Nobody would notice it now," said Jude.
There was one other house, and they tried a third time. The woman here was more amiable; but she had little room to spare, and could only agree to take in Sue and
