The girl put aside her work, and drawing her seat close to his seat by the fire, laid her arm gently on his shoulder.

“You’ll make the most of your time, Charley; won’t you?”

“Won’t I? Come! I like that. Don’t I?”

“Yes, Charley, yes. You work hard at your learning, I know. And I work a little, Charley, and plan and contrive a little (wake out of my sleep contriving sometimes), how to get together a shilling now, and a shilling then, that shall make father believe you are beginning to earn a stray living along shore.”

“You are father’s favourite, and can make him believe anything.”

“I wish I could, Charley! For if I could make him believe that learning was a good thing, and that we might lead better lives, I should be a’most content to die.”

“Don’t talk stuff about dying, Liz.”