"God forbid!" said Ralph, "but things should be better soon. This is
the back end, you know."

"Aye," answered the tailor, with a shrug that resembled a shiver.

"And they say," continued Ralph, "the back end is always the bare
end."

"And they say, too," said Sim, "change is leetsome, if it's only out
of bed into the beck!"

The tailor laughed loud, and then stopped himself with a suddenness
quite startling. The jest sounded awful on his lips. "You say the back
end's the bare end," he said, coming up to where Ralph sat in pain and
amazement; "mine's all bare end. It's nothing but 'bare end' for some
of us. Yesterday morning was wet and cold--you know how cold it was.
Well, Rotha had hardly gone out when a tap came to the door, and what
do you think it was? A woman, a woman thin and blear-eyed. Some one
must have counted her face bonnie once. She was scarce older than my
own lass, but she'd a poor weak barn at her breast and a wee lad that
trudged at her side. She was wet and cold, and asked for rest and
shelter for herself and the children-rest and shelter," repeated the
tailor in a lower tone, as though muttering to himself,--"rest and
shelter, and from me."

"Well?" inquired Ralph, not noticing Sim's self-reference.

"Well?" echoed Sim, as though Ralph should have divined the sequel.

"Had the poor creature been turned out of her home?"