"The old story, I am afraid," said Henry; "the Eight Bells."
"Yes, my dear boy; this is another voice from the Eight Bells."
"Hallet," repeated Henry to himself; "I think I must have heard the name."
"You have heard it, no doubt, Henry. Poor Hallet used to work for us; he was a carpenter, and, as I have said, a prosperous man till he became a sot. He had joined the church too. You may judge what he is now, for you heard what he said. Poor Hallet! He came to London, as he said, to better his circumstances; but I fear it was that he might sin with less restraint. His character was already gone, and he had apostatised. Poor Hallet!" Mr. Ekworth repeated with a sigh.
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It was early on a spring evening that Henry Ekworth and his father took their way towards one of the eastern outskirts of London, and striking out of the main and thronged thoroughfare of the busier streets, they found themselves, after many windings and turnings, and some inquiries, at the place they sought.
This place was a wretched, dirty court, containing about a score of dilapidated dwellings, and hemmed in on all sides by higher buildings, which shut out both light and air.
A thick, murky gloom hung over the court, and the broken ground beneath their feet was covered with black, slimy mud. The sight was depressing, and the odour was sickening.
There was life in that court. Half-naked children, many of them bare-foot and bare-headed, with dishevelled hair, and coated with filth, were playing, screaming, quarrelling, and fighting in the road-way and on the pavements; and men and women, some fierce in aspect, some moody, some dejected, but all dirty and miserably clad, were moving to and fro, or lounging at the open doors and windows of the houses.
The men were, most of them, smoking short black pipes; and at the entrance of the court was a gin-palace, which, in its gay, flaunting exterior, presented a strong contrast to the neighbouring dwellings. Mr. Ekworth and his son noticed, as they passed by the half-open, swinging double doors of the "palace," that it was thronged with just such looking men and women as seemed to compose the population of the court.