_Sus_. Poor dear!

_Mat_. She got me a gla.s.s of wine, but I couldn't swallow it, and got up and crawled out.

_Sus_. Did he see you?

_Mat_. I think he did.

_Sus_. You'll tell her, in course?

_Mat_. No, Sue; he'd hate me, and I couldn't bear that. Oh me! my side! It's so bad!

_Sus_. Let's try for home, Mattie. It's a long way, and there's nothing to eat when you're there; but you can lie down, and that's everything to them as can't sit up.

_Mat_. (_rising_). I keep fancying I'm going to meet my father.

_Sus_. Let's fancy it then every turn all the way home, an' that'll get us along. There, take my arm. There!--Come along. _Exeunt_.

_Slow music. Twilight_.

_Enter_ BILL _with a three-legged stool, brushes, etc._

_Bill_. Come! it's blackin' all over! When gents can't no longer see their boots, 'tain't much use offerin' to shine 'em. But if I can get a penny, I will. I _must_ take a tart to Mattie, or this here damaged one (_laying his hand on his stomach_) won't go to sleep this night.

_Enter_ WATERFIELD.

_Bill_. Black your boots for a party, sir?

_Wat_. (_aside_) The very rascal I saw her speaking to! But wasn't she a brick not to split! That's what I call devotion now! There _are_ some of them capable of it. I'll set her up for life. I'd give a cool thousand it hadn't happened, though. I saw her father too hanging about Gervaise's yesterday.

_Bill_. Clean your boots, sir? Shine 'em till they grin like a Cheshire cat eatin' cheese!

_Wat_. Shine away, you beggar.

_Bill_ (_turning up his trousers_). I ain't no beggar, sir. Shine for a shiner's fair play.

_Wat_. Do you live in this neighbourhood?

_Bill_. No, sir.

_Wat_. Where, then?

_Bill_ (_feeling where a pocket should be_). I don't appear to 'ave a card about me, sir, but my address is Lamb's Court, Camomile Street--leastways I do my sleepin' not far off of it. I've lived there, what livin' I _have_ done, sin' ever I wor anywheres as I knows on.

_Wat_. Do you happen to know a girl of the name of Pearson?

_Bill_. No, sir. I can't say as how I rec'lect the name. Is she a old girl or a young un?

_Wat_. You young liar! I saw you talking to her not two hours ago!

_Bill_. Did ye now, sir? That's odd, ain't it? Bless you! I talks to everybody. I ain't proud, sir.

_Wat_. Well, do you see this? (_holding up a sovereign_).

_Bill_. That's one o' them tilings what don't require much seein', sir. There! Bright as a b.u.t.terfly! T'other twin, sir!

_Wat_. I'll give you this, if you'll do something for me--and another to that when the thing's done.

_Bill_. 'Tain't stealin', sir?

_Wat_. No.

_Bill_. Cos, you see, Mattie--

_Wat_. Who did you say?

_Bill_. Old Madge as lets the beds at tuppence a short night. 'Tain't stealin', you say, sir?

_Wat_. What do you take me for? I want you to find out for me where the girl Pearson lives--that's all.

_Bill_ (_s.n.a.t.c.hing the sovereign and putting it in his mouth_). Now then, sir!--What's the young woman like?

_Wat_. Rather tall--thin--dark hair--large dark eyes--and long white hands. Her name's Matilda--Mattie Pearson--the girl you were talking to, I tell you, on this very spot an hour or two ago.

_Bill_ (_dropping the sovereign, and stooping to find it_). Golly! it _is_ our Mattie!

_Wat_. Shall you know her again?

_Bill_. Any boy as wasn't a ha.s.s would know his own grandmother by them spots. Besides, I remember sich a gal addressin' of me this mornin'. If you say her it was, I'll detect her for ye.

_Wat_. There's a good boy! What's your name?

_Bill_. Timothy, sir.

_Wat_. What else?

_Bill_. Never had no other--leastways as I knows on.

_Wat_. Well, Timothy--there's the other sov.--and it's yours the moment you take me to her. Look at it.

_Bill_. My eye!--Is she a square Moll, sir?

_Wat_. What do you mean by that?

_Bill_. Green you are, to be sure!--She ain't one as steals, or--

_Wat_. Not she. She's a sempstress--a needlewoman, or something of the sort.

_Bill_. And where shall I find _you_, sir?