It was a solitary place--more a back road than a street--and there was no one in it but her-self and the old woman.
'You needn't be frightened now,' said the old woman, still holding her tight.

'Come along with me.' 'I--I don't know you.

What's your name ?' asked Florence.
'Mrs Brown,' said the old woman.

'Good Mrs Brown.' 'Are they near here ?' asked Florence, beginning to be led away.
'Susan ain't far off,' said Good Mrs Brown; 'and the others are close to her.' 'Is anybody hurt ?' cried Florence.
'Not a bit of it,' said Good Mrs Brown.
The child shed tears of delight on hearing this, and accompanied the old woman willingly; though she could not help glancing at her face as they went along--particularly at that industrious mouth--and wondering whether Bad Mrs Brown, if there were such a person, was at all like her.
They had not gone far, but had gone by some very uncomfortable places, such as brick-fields and tile-yards, when the old woman turned down a dirty lane, where the mud lay in deep black ruts in the middle of the road.

She stopped before a shabby little house, as closely shut up as a house that was full of cracks and crevices could be.