"See, missis, I'm back again.--Hold your noise, children, and don't
mither* your mammy for bread; here's a chap as has got some for
you."
*Mither; to trouble and perplex.
"I'm welly mithered"--I'm well-nigh crazed.
In that dim light, which was darkness to strangers, they clustered
round Barton, and tore from him the food he had brought with him.
It was a large hunch of bread, but it vanished in an instant.
"We mun do summut for 'em," said he to Wilson. "Yo stop here, and
I'll be back in half-an-hour."
So he strode, and ran, and hurried home. He emptied into the
ever-useful pocket-handkerchief the little meal remaining in the
mug. Mary would have her tea at Miss Simmonds'; her food for the
day was safe. Then he went upstairs for his better coat, and his
one, gay red-and-yellow silk pocket-handkerchief--his jewels, his
plate, his valuables, these were. He went to the pawn-shop; he
pawned them for five shillings; he stopped not, nor stayed, till he
was once more in London Road, within five minutes' walk of Berry
Street--then he loitered in his gait, in order to discover the shops
he wanted.
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