"Have you been gambling?" she asked.
"No, Miss," with obvious truthfulness.
"He's got nothin' to gamble with," jeered the brutal Stanley. "His mother takes it all."
The girl mounted swiftly on to the platform, saw the writing on the blackboard, and swept it away with a duster.
Then she turned to her little congregation, feeling their temper with sure and sensitive spirit.
They were out of hand, and it was because she had been late through no fault of her own. The kitchenmaid had fainted, and Boy had, of course, been sent for.
There was one hope of steadying them.
"We'll start with a hymn," she said, taking her seat at the harmonium. "Get your hymn-books. What hymn shall we have? Alfred, it's your turn, I think."
Alfred, after some hesitation, gave The Day Thou Gavest Lord Is Ended, amid the jealous murmurs of his friend.
"That's a nevenin nymn, fat-'ead," cried Jerry in a loud whisper.