Jeffreys that morning, before he started to work, had watched the little spark of life flicker for the last time and go out.

The mother, worn-out by her constant vigils, lay ill beside her dead child.

The father, a drunkard, out of work, deserted the place, and the two other children, the baby, and the sister scarcely more than baby, wailed all day for cold and hunger.

What could he do but devote the first-fruits of his pen to these companions in distress?
The half-sovereign sufficed for the child's funeral, with a little over for the sick mother.

For the rest, he took the baby to his own garret for a night or two, and tended it there as best he could.
The two fresh letters to the paper in due time brought a sovereign; but at the same time a chilling notification to the effect that the editor did not need further contributions, and would let Mr John know if at any future time he required his services.
It was the abrupt closing of one door of promise.