He had been married forty years, and if I remember aright, he lost his wife about four years ago.

Since that time, he had lived in this cellar, all alone, washing and cooking for himself.

But I think the last would not trouble him much, for "they have no need for fine cooks who have only one potato to their dinner." When a lad, he had been apprenticed to a bobbin turner.

Afterwards he picked up some knowledge of engineering; and he had been "well off in his day." He now got a few coppers occasionally from the poor folk about, by grinding knives, and doing little tinkering jobs.
Under the window he had a rude bench, with a few rusty tools upon it, and in one corner there was a low, miserable bedstead, without clothing upon it.

There was one cratchinly chair in the place, too; but hardly anything else.