“What is he, then?” asked Johann, letting his hand slip quietly into his pocket.
“Working carpenter he was; but now he can’t get regular work, and has to take any odd job. He don’t often get more than five or six marks in the week, and half of that goes for the room.”
“That’s bad. When did your husband die?”
“Thirteen years ago next Christmas. He was a bricklayer, he was, earning good wages; but one of his mates dropped a brick on his head and killed him. I got ten pounds from the club; but that soon went.”
“And you’ve had no one but your son to support you ever since?”
“Ay; except when the girls gave me something. The eldest was a good one; but she died in hospital.”
“And the others?”
“They went on the streets, both of them. One’s in the asylum now, and the other’s gone to Berlin; and I’ve never heard from her since. It was hunger drove them to it,” she added, with a faint effort to meet any possible feeling of disapproval in the mind of her questioner. It was evident that she was long past any such feeling herself.
Johann looked at the King, who turned away, sick at heart.
“Well, here’s a trifle towards your next dinner,” said Johann, dropping a couple of coins into the woman’s skinny claw. A larger sum might have attracted too much notice.