At half-past eleven Mrs. Peckover was arrayed in her mourning robes—­new, dark-glistening.  During her absence Clem had kept guard over Mrs. Gully, whom it was very difficult indeed to restrain from the bottles and decanters; the elder lady coming to relieve, Clem could rush away and don her own solemn garments.  The undertaker with his men arrived; the hearse and coaches drove up; the Close was in a state of excitement.  ’Now that’s what I call a respectable turn-out!’ was the phrase passed from mouth to mouth in the crowd gathering near the door.  Children in great numbers had absented themselves from school for the purpose of beholding this procession.  ’I do like to see spirited ‘orses at a funeral!’ remarked one of the mourners, who had squeezed his way to the parlour window.  ’It puts the finishin’ touch, as you may say, don’t it?’ When the coffin was borne forth, there was such a press in the street that the men with difficulty reached the hearse.  As the female mourners stepped across the pavement with handkerchiefs held to their mouths, a sigh of satisfaction was audible throughout the crowd; the males were less sympathetically received, and some jocose comments from a costermonger, whose business was temporarily interrupted, excited indulgent smiles.

The procession moved slowly away, and the crowd, unwilling to disperse immediately, looked about for some new source of entertainment.  They were fortunate, for at this moment came round the corner an individual notorious throughout Clerkenwell as ’Mad Jack.’  Mad he presumably was—­at all events, an idiot.  A lanky, raw-boned, red-beaded man, perhaps forty years old; not clad, but hung over with the filthiest rags; hatless, shoeless.  He supported himself by singing in the streets, generally psalms, and with eccentric modulations of the voice which always occasioned mirth in hearers.  Sometimes he stood at a corner and began the delivery of a passage of Scripture in French; how, where, or when he could have acquired this knowledge was a mystery, and Jack would throw no light on his own past.  At present, having watched the funeral coaches pass away, he lifted up his voice in a terrific blare, singing, ’All ye works of the Lord, bless ye the Lord, praise Him and magnify Him for ever.’  Instantly he was assailed by the juvenile portion of the throng, was pelted with anything that came to an, mocked mercilessly, buffeted from behind.  For a while he persisted in his psalmody, but at length, without warning, he rushed upon his tormentors, and with angry shrieks endeavoured to take revenge.  The uproar continued till a policeman came and cleared the way.  Then Jack went off again, singing, ‘All ye works of the Lord.’  With his voice blended that of the costermonger, ‘Penny a bundill!’

Up in the Hewetts’ back-room lay Jane Snowdon, now seemingly asleep, now delirious.  When she talked, a name was constantly upon her lips; she kept calling for ‘Mr. Kirkwood.’  Amy was at school; Annie and Tom frequently went into the room and gazed curiously at the sick girl.  Mrs. Hewett felt so ill to-day that she could only lie on the bed and try to silence her baby’s crying.