She placed her hands in one another on his shoulder, and laying her rich brown cheek against them as she looked down at the fire, went on thoughtfully:

“Of an evening, Charley, when you are at the school, and father’s⁠—”

“At the Six Jolly Fellowship Porters,” the boy struck in, with a backward nod of his head towards the public-house.

“Yes. Then as I sit a-looking at the fire, I seem to see in the burning coal⁠—like where that glow is now⁠—”

“That’s gas, that is,” said the boy, “coming out of a bit of a forest that’s been under the mud that was under the water in the days of Noah’s Ark. Look here! When I take the poker⁠—so⁠—and give it a dig⁠—”

“Don’t disturb it, Charley, or it’ll be all in a blaze. It’s that dull glow near it, coming and going, that I mean. When I look at it of an evening, it comes like pictures to me, Charley.”