A cab was called, their luggage was put upon it, and they were landed in Nelson Square.  The lodgings were three rooms at the back of the house, two of them garrets at the top, and the third a small sitting-room on the ground floor, behind the front parlour.  They looked rather dismal, and Miriam inquired whether they could not have front rooms.

“Oh yes, ma’am; but they would come more expensive.  Mrs. Dabb told me she didn’t think you would like to pay more than thirteen shillings and sixpence a week without extras, which is exceedingly cheap for this part, and the front rooms corresponding would be five-and-twenty shillings.”

This settled the question.  They had fancied an outlook on a gay promenade, and they had in its place a waste expanse of dirty dull roofs and smoking chimneys.  If they looked down below, they saw a series of small courtyards used for the purpose of storing refuse which could not be put in the dustbin—­bottles, broken crockery, and odd bits of rusty iron.  The first thing was to provide the breakfast for the following morning.  This their landlady offered to do for them.  The next thing was to go to bed utterly wearied and worn out.  They both slept soundly, and both woke much refreshed and full of buoyant hope.  A pleasant and seductive vista lay before them—­seductive and pleasant, although they were in Nelson Square, as that which we see in one of Turner’s Italian pictures—­a temple at the side, a lake in front and beyond it a valley embosomed in woods and mountains, basking in golden light.

They planned the day.  Miriam had to lay in her stock of eatables, and of course must call on her aunt.  At twenty minutes to eight Andrew started.  The way was easy to find, and he was at his uncle’s five minutes before his time.  The shopmen were already there, and Andrew had rather a rough greeting.

“An’t yer brought yer warming-pan with yer, young ’un?  You’ll find it cool a sittin’ still all day long.”

Andrew then found out that the desk up aloft was really his appointed post.

“Don’t yer be so free, Bill,” said the other; “he’s the govnor’s nevvy.  You’d better mind what you’re at, old man, now we’ve got the nevvy here.”

“I suppose you’ll be a pardner next week,” continued the first with a bow.

The truth was that Mr. Dabb had told his men that he was expecting a nephew “of his missus’s,” and that “he was took on as a kind of charity like.”

Mr. Dabb now appeared.

“Here you are—­all right.  Sharp’s the word—­that’s my motter.  Keep on your coat and hat—­you’ll want ’em, I can tell you.  This isn’t a place for coddlin’, is it, Bill?” Bill smiled.  “You’ve got to take the money—­all ready money here, except a few weeklies.  You get a ticket, see as you have the right amount; we keep a duplicate, and so we check you.  Things as go in the books you put down.  Three-quarters of an hour for your dinner and half-an-hour