They were gone, and
the house was cleared out. "They have had neither fire nor candle in
that house for weeks past," said my companion. We then turned up a
narrow entry, which was so dark and low overhead that my companion
only told me just in time to "mind my hat!" There are several such
entries leading out of Pole Street to little courts behind. Here we
turned into a cold and nearly empty cottage, where a middle-aged
woman sat nursing a sick child. She looked worn and ill herself, and
she had sore eyes. She told me that the child was her daughter's.
Her daughter's husband had died of asthma in the workhouse, about
six weeks before. He had not "addled" a penny for twelve months
before he died. She said, "We hed a varra good heawse i' Stanley
Street once; but we hed to sell up an' creep hitherto. This heawse
is 2s. 3d. a week; an' we mun pay it, or go into th' street. Aw
nobbut owed him for one week, an' he said, 'Iv yo connot pay yo mun
turn eawt for thoose 'at will do.' Aw did think o' gooin' to th'
Board," continued she, "for a pair o' clogs. My een are bad; an' awm
ill all o'er, an' it's wi' nought but gooin' weet o' my feet.
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