Things went on in this manner for some time. Then the hot summer was over and the green leaves died and fell to the ground with a rustle. All the children except the babies started to school. It became too cold to play out-of-doors in the afternoon, and soon the days got so short that there were no afternoons, and the children forgot it ever had been summer at all.
If a body had not already known it, he would never have guessed that the row of houses on one side of Jefferson Square contained twenty-eight children toasting their toes by blazing fires.
We should say twenty-one, for the entire family of outcasts had moved from the square to a more congenial neighbourhood, and Mrs. Paddy lost the only friends she had. Instead of the bright faces smiling and nodding to her every time they went in or out the front door, an ugly white card, with "For Rent" in big black letters, stared at her all day, reminding her sadly of the friends who were gone.
Paddy noticed her looking a little forlorn one morning, so he said:
"The cold weather doesn't agree with you, Peggy; there's too much air coming through the window cracks. I'll just move your chair away from it, and as close to the fire as may be."
He had to leave her alone a great deal those days, for bread was high and work scarce. To get either, a man had to start early so as to be handy for any odd jobs that came his way.
Peggy was sometimes so lonely that she missed even the naughty children, for in summer when they played on the common she could hear their young voices and it was company for her. Now all she could see was a bare brown waste with never a child in sight.