Her thoughts were interrupted by a tinkling bell, and a voice that cried: "Peas an' pies, all 'ot!--all 'ot!" It was the pieman, pushing a handcart.

He went the length of the street, unnoticed.

She thought of Joey, dead and gone these long years, with his shop on wheels and his air of prosperity.

His widow lived on the rent of a terrace of houses, but his successor was as lean as a starved cat, for the people's tastes had changed, and the chipped-potato shop round the corner took all their money.

She thought with pride of Joey and the famous wedding feast--the peas, the pies, the saveloys, the beer, the songs and laughter.