spittin', there ain't no gettin' a wink o' sleep. Hark to him now!"
"Missus Simpson! Missus Simpson!" cried a cracked and querulous voice from above.
"That's him!" she cried, nodding her head with an air of triumph. "He do go on somethin' scandalous. Yes, Mister Brewster, sir."
"I want my morning ration, Missus Simpson."
"It's just ready, Mister Brewster, sir."
"Blessed if he ain't like a baby cryin' for its pap," said the young woman.
"I feel as if I could shake his old bones up sometimes!" cried Mrs. Simpson viciously. "But who's for a 'arf of fourpenny?"
The whole company were about to shuffle off to the public-house, when a young girl stepped across the road and touched the housekeeper timidly upon the arm. "I think that is No. 56 Arsenal View," she said. "Can you tell me if Mr Brewster lives here?"
The housekeeper looked critically at the newcomer. She was a girl of about twenty, broad-faced and comely, with a turned-up nose and large, honest, grey eyes. Her print dress, her straw hat, with its bunch of glaring poppies, and the bundle she carried had all a smack of the country.
"You're Norah Brewster, I s'pose," said Mrs
