converted into mild, gentle little members of the institution.
The eldest boy, who from longest association with the bazaars might have been the worst, was one of the steadiest and most trustworthy lads of the place. Perhaps he owed his sobriety to the fact that his mother had once made arrangements for his funeral. The exchequer was low, and Mrs. Robins was thrown on her own resources to provide food for her family. Her husband, an able-bodied man and an excellent carpenter, retired from work at the early age of thirty. He absolutely refused to do more, and based his action on the Bible. Our Lord, he averred, had laboured as a carpenter thirty years and no longer. He but followed his example in laying aside his tools. The responsibility of making an income sufficient to keep body and soul together fell upon Mrs. Robins, who set herself to the task with more zeal than principle. The burial of her son was not her own invention, but an old trick which has been played off on more than one unwary chaplain new to the country.
One morning she appeared in the verandah and related with torrents of tears a sad story. Her dear little son, Fred, had been taken ill in the night and had died. She described his symptoms and how he drew his last breath. The piteous tale was concluded with an urgent appeal for money. She wanted a few rupees to pay for a coffin, quite a plain coffin, to put her poor boy in. The cheapest she could get would cost seven rupees. Then there would be bearers to pay, and in addition she would be obliged to give them some coffee and bread. The list of her requirements poured from her lips with a glibness that ought to have raised suspicion; but the tears were convincing. The unsuspecting listener was melted to pity, and at the end of her tale of woe he placed fifteen rupees in her hand. The burial was fixed for five o'clock
