Fan | Page 8

in the middle of October; the foliage and beauty of summer had
long vanished; she had seen the shed autumn leaves in Hyde Park many
days ago, yet she had walked all the weary distance from Moon Street,
cheered with the thought that in the country it would be different, that
there would still be sunshine and shadow there, and green trees and
flowers. It was useless to go on, and impossible in her weak exhausted
condition to attempt to return at once. The only thing left for her to do
was to creep aside and lie down under the shelter of some hedge, and
get through the time in the best way she could. Near the road, some
distance ahead, there was a narrow lane with a rough thorny hedge on
either side, and thither she now went in quest of a shelter of some kind
from the rain which was beginning to fall. The lane was on the east side
of the road, and under the hedge on one hand there was an old ditch
overgrown with grass and weeds; here Fan crouched down under a
bush until the shower was over, then got out and walked on again.
Presently she discovered a gap in the hedge large enough to admit her
body, and after peering cautiously through and seeing no person about,
she got into the field. It was small, and the hedge all round shut out the
view on every side; nevertheless it was a relief to be there, safe out of
sight of all men for a little while. She walked on, still keeping close to
the hedge, until she came to a dwarf oak tree, with a deep hollow in the
ground between its trunk and the hedge; the hollow was half filled with
fallen dead leaves, and Fan, turning them with her foot, found that
under the surface they were dry, and this spot being the most tempting
one she had yet seen, she coiled herself up in the leafy bed to rest. And
lying there in the shelter, after eating her bread, she very soon fell
asleep, in spite of the cold.
From her sleep, which lasted for some hours, she woke stiff and chilled
to the marrow. It was late in the day, and the occasional watery gleams
the sun shot through the grey clouds came from low down in the
western sky. She started up, and scarcely able at first to use her sore,
cramped limbs, set out on her return. She was hungry and thirsty and

sore--sore also in mind at her disappointment--and the gusty evening
wind blew chill, and more than one shower of rain fell to wet her; but
she reached Paddington at last. In the Edgware Road the Saturday
evening market was in full progress when she passed, too tired and
miserable to take any interest in the busy bustling scene. And
by-and-by the dense moving crowds, noise of bawling costermongers,
and glare of gas and naphtha torches were left behind, when she
reached the welcome gloom and comparative quiet of her own squalid
street. There was also welcome quiet in the top room when she entered,
for her parents were out. A remnant of fire was in the grate, and the
teapot had been left on the fender to keep warm. Fan poured herself out
some tea and drank it thirstily; then hanging her dress over a chair to
dry by the heat of the embers, and nestling into her rickety bed in the
corner, she very quickly fell asleep. From her sleep she was at length
roused by Mrs. Clark, the landlady, who with her husband and children
inhabited the ground-floor.
"When did you come in, Fan?" she asked.
"I think it was half-past seven," said the girl.
"Well, your mother went out earlier than that, and now it's half-past ten,
and she not in yet. It's a shame for them always to stay out like that
when they've got a bit of money. I think you'd better go and see if you
can find her, and make her come in. She went to buy the dinner, and
look for Joe in Crawford Street. That's where you'll find her, I'm
thinking."
Fan rose obediently, shivering with cold, her eyes still heavy with sleep,
and putting on her damp things went out into the streets again. In a few
minutes she was in Crawford Street. It is long, narrow, crooked, and
ill-paved; full of shops, but of a meaner description than those in the
adjacent thoroughfare, with a larger proportion of fishmongers,
greengrocers, secondhand furniture and old clothes sellers. Here also
was a Saturday evening market, an overflow from the Edgware Road,
composed chiefly of the poorer class of costermongers--the vendors of
cheap damaged fruits and