'Hannah! summat hot--at woonst.' But Hannah did not move.

She stood at the foot of the stairs, barring the way, the chill morning light falling on her threatening attitude, her grey dishevelled hair and all the squalid disarray of her dress.
'Them as doos like beggar's brats,' she said grimly, 'may fare like 'em.

_I_'ll do nowt for 'em.' The lad came up to her, his look all daring and resolution--his sister on his arm.

But as he met the woman's expression, his lips trembled, he suddenly broke down.
'Now, look here,' he cried, with a sob in his throat.

'I know we're beggar's brats.