My father was not to be seen; but I ventured to leave word for him that I was gone home, and had taken John Halifax with me: it was astonishing how bold I felt myself growing, now that there was another beside myself to think and act for.
We reached Widow Watkins' door.

It was a poor place--poorer than I had imagined; but I remembered what agonies of cleanliness had been inflicted on me in nursery days; and took hope for John.
Sally sat in her kitchen, tidy and subdued, mending an old jacket that had once been Bill's, until, being supplanted by the grand red coat, it descended upon Jem, the second lad.

But Bill still engrossed the poor mother's heart--she could do nothing but weep over him, and curse "Bonyparty." Her mind was so full of this that she apparently failed to recognise in the decent young workman, John Halifax, the half-starved lad she had belaboured with her tongue in the alley.

She consented at once to his lodging with her--though she looked up with an odd stare when I said he was "a friend" of mine.
So we settled our business, first all together, then Sally and I alone, while John went up to look at his room.

I knew I could trust Sally, whom I was glad enough to help, poor woman! She promised to make him extra-comfortable, and keep my secret too.