“I say, Jerry,” says she, speaking very slowly, “I say, if Mrs. Briggs would give you a sovereign every Sunday morning, I would not have you a seven-days’ cabman again. We have known what it was to have no Sundays, and now we know what it is to call them our own. Thank God, you earn enough to keep us, though it is sometimes close work to pay for all the oats and hay, the license, and the rent besides; but Harry will soon be earning something, and I would rather struggle on harder than we do than go back to those horrid times when you hardly had a minute to look at your own children, and we never could go to a place of worship together, or have a happy, quiet day. God forbid that we should ever turn back to those times; that’s what I say, Jerry.”

“And that is just what I told Mr. Briggs, my dear,” said Jerry, “and what I mean to stick to. So don’t go and fret yourself, Polly,” (for she had begun to cry), “I would not go back to the old times if I earned twice as much, so that is settled, little woman. Now, cheer up, and I’ll be off to the stand.”