The cottage was an unalluring, straight brick-built tenement, seeming as though intended to be one of a row which had never progressed beyond Number One.

A voice answered from the interior, inquiring who was the visitor, to which Mr.Crawley replied by giving his name.

Then the key was turned in the lock, and Dan Morris, the brickmaker, appeared with a candle in his hand.

He had been engaged in lighting the fire, with a view to his own breakfast.

"Where is your wife, Dan ?" asked Mr.Crawley.