where the mother, dull-eyed, depressed, and untidy, sat with her elbows
on her knees. She was in a poor state of health, and had not recovered
from the last week's outburst. It was Saturday night, but there was no
pay forthcoming from the head of the house, who was still in Duke Street
Prison. Walter looked at his mother fixedly for a moment, and the shadow
deepened on his face. She was certainly an unlovely object in her dirty,
unkempt gown, her hair half hanging on her neck, her heavy face looking
as if it had not seen soap and water for long, her dull eyes unlit by
any gleam of intelligence. Of late, since they had grown more dissipated
in their habits, Walter had fallen on the plan of keeping back his wages
till the beginning of the week--the only way in which to ensure them
food. Seldom, indeed, was anything left after Saturday and Sunday's
carousal.

'Is there anything the matter the day, mother?' he asked quite kindly
and gently, being moved by a sudden feeling of compassion for her.

'No, naething; but I'm clean dune. Wad ye no' bring in a drap, Wat?' she
said coaxingly, and her eye momentarily brightened with anticipation.

'It won't do you any good, mother, ye ken that,' he said, striving still
to speak gently, though repulsion now mingled with his pity. 'A good
dinner or supper would do ye more good. I'll bring in a bit steak, if
ye'll cook it.'

'I've nae stammick for meat,' she said, relapsing into her dull state.
'I'm no' lang for this world, an' my wee drap's the only comfort I hae.
Ye'll maybe wish ye hadna been as ill to me by an' by.'

'I'm comin' alang some nicht, Wat,' said Liz, who invariably treated