"You speak bitterly," said Markham.
"Yes—because I tell the truth, sir. My cart is to be returned to me; but of what use is it, or the stock that is in it, since I don't dare go about to sell fruit?"
"Could you not open a little shop?"
"Ah! sir—that requires money!"
"How much?"
"A matter of four or five pounds, sir," replied the man; "and where could a poor devil like me——"
"I will give you five pounds for the purpose;" interrupted Markham; and taking from his pocket-book a bank note, he handed it to the poor man.
We will not attempt to depict his gratitude: words would completely fail to convey an idea of the exuberant joy which filled the heart of that good and affectionate father, who would rather have become a thief than seen his children starve!
"And now, my good woman, what can I do for you?" said Markham, turning to the third object of his charity. "How in the name of heaven, came you reduced, with three children, to such a state of want and destitution?"
"My husband, sir, is in prison," answered the poor creature, bursting into tears, while her children clung the more closely around her.