"
"How's that?"
She told him the story of the baby-farmer and he listened kindly, and she
thought the necessary miracle was about to happen. But he only
complimented her on her pluck and got up to go. Then she understood that
he did not care to listen to sad stories, and a vagrant came and sat down.
"The 'copper,'" he said, "will be moving us on presently. It don't much
matter; it's too cold to get to sleep, and I think it will rain. My cough
is that bad."
She might beg a night's lodging of Mrs. Jones. It was far away; she did
not think she could walk so far. Mrs. Jones might have left, then what
would she do? The workhouse up there was much the same as the workhouse
down here. Mrs. Jones couldn't keep her for nothing, and there was no use
trying for another situation as wet-nurse; the hospital would not
recommend her again.... She must go to the workhouse. Then her thoughts
wandered. She thought of her father, brothers, and sisters, who had gone
to Australia. She wondered if they had yet arrived, if they ever thought
of her, if--She and her baby were on their way to the workhouse. They were
going to become paupers. She looked at the vagrant--he had fallen asleep.
He knew all about the workhouse--should she ask him what it was like? He,
too, was friendless. If he had a friend he would not be sleeping on the
Embankment.
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