Two small bundles of clothing constituted Pinky's entire effects; and taking these, the two girls went quietly out, leaving a week's rent unpaid.
The night that closed this early winter day was raw and cold, the easterly wind still prevailing, with occasional dashes of rain.

In a cellar without fire, except a few bits of smouldering wood in an old clay furnace, that gave no warmth to the damp atmosphere, and with scarcely an article of furniture, a woman half stupid from drink sat on a heap of straw, her bed, with her hands clasped about her knees.

She was rocking her body backward and forward, and crooning to herself in a maudlin way.

A lighted tallow candle stood on the floor of the cellar, and near it a cup of water, in which was a spoon and some bread soaking.
"Mother Hewitt!" called a voice from the cellar door that opened on the street.

"Here, take the baby!" Mother Hewitt, as she was called, started up and made her way with an unsteady gait to the front part of the cellar, where a woman in not much better condition than herself stood holding out a bundle of rags in which a fretting baby was wrapped.
"Quick, quick!" called the woman.