In the afternoon he sallied out to seek
employment. The weather had cleared, but Mrs. Coleman still refused
to accompany him, and she occupied herself moodily with setting the
place to rights, as she called it, although, as it happened, it was
particularly neat and clean. There was not so much printing done in
Manchester then as now, and Zachariah had no success. He came home
about seven o'clock, weary and disheartened. His wife was one of
those women who under misfortune show all that is worst in them, as
many women in misfortune show all that is best.
"You might have been sure you would get nothing to do here. If, as
you say, there is no danger, why did you not stay in London?"
"You know all about it, my dear; we were warned to come."
"Yes, but why in such a hurry? Why didn't you stop to think?"
"It is all very well to say so now, but there were only a few minutes
in which to decide. Besides, when I got home I found you gone."
Mrs. Zachariah conveniently took no notice of the last part of this
remark, which, of course, settled the whole question, but continued:
"Ah, well, I suppose it's all right; but I'm sure we shall starve--I
am convinced we shall.
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