A very small case of trinkets was on Mrs Cruden's dressing-table, and not one of the twenty or thirty books arranged on the top of the sideboard was one which any member of the small household cared anything about.
But Mr Richmond had done his best, and being left entirely to his own devices, was not to be blamed for the few mistakes he had made.

He was there to receive Mrs Cruden when she arrived, and after conducting the little party hurriedly through the three rooms destined for their accommodation, considerately retired.
Until the moment when they were left to themselves in the shabby little Dull Street parlour, not one of the Crudens had understood the change which had come over their lot.

All had been so sudden, so exciting, so unlooked-for during the last few weeks, that all three of them had seemed to go through it as through a dream.

But the awakening came now, and a rude and cruel one it was.
The little room, dignified by the name of a parlour, was a dingy, stuffy apartment of the true Dull Street type.

The paper was faded and torn, the ceiling was discoloured, the furniture was decrepit, the carpet was threadbare, and the cheap engraving on the wall, with its title, "As Happy as a King," seemed to brood over the scene like some mocking spirit.
They passed into Mrs Cruden's bedroom, and the thought of the delightful snug little boudoir at Garden Vale sent a shiver through them as they glanced at the bare walls, the dilapidated half-tester, the chipped and oddly assorted crockery.
The boys' room was equally cheerless.