The situations she had been in; her life with that dear
good soul, Miss Rice, then Fred Parsons, then William again; her marriage,
the life in the public-house, money lost and money won, heart-breakings,
death, everything that could happen had happened to her. Now it all seemed
like a dream. But her boy remained to her. She had brought up her boy,
thank God, she had been able to do that. But how had she done it? How
often had she found herself within sight of the workhouse? The last time
was no later than last week. Last week it had seemed to her that she would
have to accept the workhouse. But she had escaped, and now here she was
back at the very point from which she started, going back to Woodview,
going back to Mrs. Barfield's service.
William's illness and his funeral had taken Esther's last few pounds away
from her, and when she and Jack came back from the cemetery she found that
she had broken into her last sovereign. She clasped him to her bosom--he
was a tall boy of fifteen--and burst into tears. But she did not tell him
what she was crying for. She did not say, "God only knows how we shall
find bread to eat next week;" she merely said, wiping away her tears, "We
can't afford to live here any longer. It's too expensive for us now that
father's gone." And they went to live in a slum for three-and-sixpence a
week.
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