the pools looked so tempting that I could not
help going in again; and I got plenty more
good-sized shrimps. When my shadow had
shortened considerably, so that I thought it
was time to be turning rny face towards the
barracks, I made haste back, round the
point of the headland. I had heard a dull
sound of knocking before; and now, when I
turned the point, I saw several soldiers, in
their gaiters and small-clothes, but without
their red coats, very busy within sight. Some
had pickaxes, and were hewing away at the
rocks; a few had barrows, and were gathering
stones from the beach. The lazy cottagers
had turned out sooner than usual to see the
sight; and some of the boys were helping to
pick up stones.

My mother was looking out for me
impatiently. She had obtained a quantity of
mackarel from a boat just come in, and was
going with me to the barracks, without having
said a word of it to the neighbours. What a
load she could carry on her back, in our
largest creel! In addition, she and Jos took
between them another heavy basket. I had
enough to do to carry my shrimps. We left
poor little Peter, with a great piece of bread
in his hand, to take his chance on the beach.
My mother locked her door, and carried
away the key, and set Peter down on the
sand, with a heap of gay pebbles about him,
and a bit of rope to play with, and trusted he
would come to no harm. She gave one look
back as she left the beach, and said she
thought that, with so many people about, he
would be safe; and she would make all the
haste she could back again.

We walked so fast that we were sadly hot
and out of breath when we came upon the
moor. My mother stopped to take a sup out
of her bottle, and to give us a mouthful with
our bread, which we ate as we walked. When
we came near the barracks, there were no
more the French prisoners, with their eager
faces looking out through the rails, and their
curious jabber. What we saw through the
rails was a line of soldiers on parade; and
what we heard was the loud voice of the
officer in command, and the jingle of the
muskets, as the men changed arms. We soon
found that our market was greatly improved.
We sold half our mackarel, as soon as the
parade was over, and nearly all my shrimps.
Another piece of luck befel us. The baker's
cart was there, delivering bread; and the
baker was willing, for the consideration of a
couple of mackarel, to carry Jos and me and
the rest of our fish to Dunridge, where we
had no doubt of selling off everything. We
heaped up the basket in the cart, and saw my
mother set off homewards at a brisk trot, with
her empty creel on her back, to see as soon as
possible whether little Peter was safe. She
had not forgotten to leave with Jos the fishy
canvas bag into which we were to put our
money. The baker told us we must take
good care of it, for he had never known such
a place as Dunridge was for beggars and
thieves. He was obliged, he said, to buy off
some of them with a daily allowance of crusts
and old bread, to prevent his door being
infested by them; and they were growing so
saucy now as to say that they did not like stale
bread, and should soon make him give them
new. His wife was afraid to sit alone in the
shop, while he was away, even with the half-
door bolted—the poor creatures were so
abusive. He said the butcher over the way
was under the same difficulty. It was
unknown what he gave away every week in
odd pieces of meat and bone: and yet the
poor sickly wretches looked never the better
for it.

Jos asked why the rich people did not take
care of the poor, as they ought to do? and
the baker answered that he believed the
gentry did all they could. They had to pay
dearer for their meat and bread, to repay the
tradesmen for what was extorted from them;
and they could not go ten yards from their
own doors, without being beset by abusive
beggars, and mobbed if they did not give. The
ladies had almost left off taking walks; and
even when they went to church, they were
not free. The church bells brought out the
pale-faced, ragged, desperate-looking beggars
from their cellars, and close courts and alleys,
to tread on the heels of the gentry as they
went through the churchyard, and wait for
them when they came out. Last Sunday,
indeed, he had seen something which almost
made him doubt his eyesight. Some young
ladies were in a pew by themselves, and a
ghastly-looking man leaned over the door,
putting out his hand, and even touching the
nearest lady on the shoulder, as she bent her
head over her prayer book. The baker said
that he had lost no time, after observing this,
in finding the beadle; but before he could
get to the pew, the ladies had given silver to
the beggar, to get rid of him. The constables
were afraid to do much, they were over-
matched, and the magistracy were perplexed
and timid. Nobody saw how the matter was
to end; for Dunridge was a wretchedly poor
town now. His own opinion was that the
unhealthiness of the place was more to blame
than the war. People had no strength or
spirit to work, when they were having the
fever and ague so often; and there was less
and less of work and wages, every year, from
the decay of the place. It hurt the baker
so much to think of this, that he vented his
vexation in giving a sharp cut to his horse,
which made it spring forward, knocking Jos
and me against the back of the cart, and spilling
some of our slippery fish.

I was quite ready to cry before, so frightful
was the prospect of going among the beggars
and thieves; and now I roared, and said I
would get out. I believe Jos was nearly as
much frightened. The baker must have
greatly needed to ease his mind, to pour out
all this to two children. Perhaps it had done