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butcher.'
    'More than likely,' Nanny nodded. 'Yes, could well be so. On the other hand'— she gazed affectionately at Eleanor and wondered who would ever advise her on the way of the world— 'it might have made somebody a good supper.'
    Eleanor gazed wide-eyed at her. 'But do you not think it would turn sour in their stomachs with the knowledge of its being stolen?'
    Nanny drained her glass. 'No, my dear. I don't. But don't tell your father I said so.'
    'You don't think he'll be hanged, do you?' Eleanor asked after a moment's silence. 'Papa told him he might swing from a rope one day.'
    'Did he? Well, your papa would know about such things, being in law himself. But I shouldn't worry,' Nanny said kindly. 'They'll not hang him this time, and mebbe after a spell in prison he'll walk a straight line. If he's not starving, that is,' she added, and gave a little grunt as she bent to put more coal on the fire. 'It's incredible what lengths a person will go to if he's got a hunger in his belly.'
    Eleanor took another small bite of bread. She had been hungry too, but now her appetite seemed to have vanished. Poor boy, she thought. Yet he hadn't seemed too downcast; rather it had seemed as if he was trying to reassure her when her father had mentioned the hanging and she had given such a start. If I could only see him, she thought, I could warn him of what might become of him if he continues on this downward path. But then I don't suppose he would listen. I'm only a girl and not very wise, and only know about spelling and art and music, and even if I was grown up it would be the same, except that, like Mama, I would know my duty.
     
CHAPTER FOUR
     
    'I'll do as I like.' Bridget tossed her head and turned her back on her mother.
    'That you won't, Bridget Turner. You'll do as I say and you will not stay out half the night like a wanton.' Her mother shook a dish rag at her daughter. 'If your dada finds out—'
    'He'll not find out and if he did he wouldn't care. He's drunk in 'alehouse more often than not.' Bridget knew her mother had no answer to that. She had escaped from a merrymaking Irish family only to marry an English drunkard. 'Anyway, I was doing nothing, onny chatting with friends.'
    'Until two in a morning! Sweet Mary, what kind of reputation will that get you?'
    Bridget shrugged. 'Don't care. Folks can think what they like.'
    'Was Rosie Quinn with you?'
    Bridget gave a scornful laugh. 'That bairn! Her ma won't let her out of her sight.'
    'Quite right too,' her mother responded.
    'With a son in prison she must be at her wits' end to keep her other children on the straight and narrow.' She gave a deep sigh. 'Poor woman. What a disgrace. Such shame, and he seeming such a grand lad. I'd never of thought of Mikey Quinn's being a thief.'
    'For heaven's sake, Ma! He onny stole a couple o' rabbits. They were hanging there right in front of his nose. If I'd seen 'em I might have done 'same. And I'd have run faster,' she added.
    'Don't you dare! Never set foot in this house with stolen goods. Do you hear?' Una Turner raised her voice as she always did when her unruly children ignored what she was saying. 'The Irish get blamed for everything in this town. It's always our fault.'
    'I'm not Irish,' Bridget disclaimed. 'Onny half.'
    'True! You're your father's daughter all right.' Her mother knew when she was beaten. 'You'll go to the bad just the same as he has.' She threw the dish rag on to the table and put her shawl round her shoulders. 'I'm going out. Somebody in this house has to try for honest work.'
    She banged out of the door and Bridget crashed into a chair. Her head was splitting. It wasn't true that she had only been talking with friends last night. She had been talking; but to seamen in a hostelry in the town and with a glass of gin in her hand. Not an inn which her father frequented, for had he seen her he would have sent her off with a humiliating sharp word or a slap. It wasn't only the boys in this family who had felt