[CHAPTER II.]
UP THE STAIRS.
A SMALL room in the top story but one of the house, was that to which Ailie was led by her companion, with one long narrow window, the broken diamond-shaped panes of glass being mended not untidily with rag. Being so high up in the confined street, such daylight as yet remained found freer entrance than below, and the darkness was some degrees less advanced than on the staircase and landings. Other similar windows might be seen in the building opposite, at a distance of some few yards, with haggard faces in them here and there.
If the room looked crowded, it was not at least with the presence of over much furniture. One broken bedstead stood in the corner, made to turn up clumsily in the daytime. Out of its coverings peeped three small heads, in various positions of careless repose. These were the infants, varying from six to three in age.
A rickety table occupied the centre of the room, and a man sat beside it on a chair, which had lost the upper half of its back. A large-built man in appearance, yet sickly-looking, with a hopeless expression of countenance, as he leant his head upon his hand, and gazed moodily on the floor.
Two idle looms stood against the wall, taking up much space, and doing little else, in this sad time of slack work. The only remaining chair was used by a dwarfish high-shouldered boy of ten or eleven, whose heavy head hung over the back, with dropping jaw, and half-opened eyes gazing into vacancy. Near him, extended listlessly on the floor, was a second boy, some two years older, tall, thin and feeble-looking, with wasted limbs showing through his tattered clothing, and honest eyes sparkling from beneath his brows. One of his knees, raised and crossing the other, formed a resting-place for a little girl of about seven or eight, whose large blue eyes, heavy with sleep, and delicate fairness of complexion, formed a curious contrast to other members of the family.
There was a hungry glance from those two at Esther Forsyth, as she entered the room, followed by a curious gaze at her companion. Such a mere scrag of a child it was, standing in the doorway, with black eyes, alike timid and eager, short black hair pushed behind her ears in an attempt at neatness, and thin bare arms. She did not look more than nine years old, but age is hard to guess among these stunted city children.
"Well," John Forsyth said briefly. "Got any work, Esther? No need to ask, I s'pose," and he sighed. "What's that child for?"
"John, did you know Jem Carter was a-dyin'?"