August was hot in Honey Fair. The women sat at their open doors, or even outside them; the children tumbled in the ; the refuse in the road was none the better for the month's heat.  
Charlotte East sat in her kitchen one Tuesday afternoon, busy as usual. Her door was shut, but her window was open. Suddenly the was lifted and Mrs. Cross came in: not with the bold, movements that were common to Honey Fair, but with creeping steps that seemed afraid of their own echoes, and a scared face.
 
Mrs. Cross was in trouble. Her two daughters, Amelia and Mary Ann, to whom you have had the honour of an introduction, had purchased those lovely cross-barred sarcenets, green, pink, and lilac, and worn them at the party at the Alhambra: which party went off satisfactorily, leaving nothing behind it but some headaches for the next day, and a trifle of to Honey Fair in general. What with the finery for the party, and other finery, and what with articles really useful, but which perhaps might have been done without, Honey Fair was pretty deeply in with the Messrs. Bankes. In Mrs. Cross's family alone, herself and her daughters owed, conjointly, so much to these accommodating tradesmen that it took eight shillings a week to keep them quiet. You can readily understand how this the weekly housekeeping; and the falsehoods that had to be , by way of keeping the husband, Jacob Cross, in the dark, were something alarming. This was the state of things in many of the homes of Honey Fair.
 
Mrs. Cross came in with timid steps and a scared face. "Charlotte, lend me five shillings for the love of goodness!" cried she, speaking as if afraid of the sound of her own voice. "I don't know another soul to ask but you. There ain't another that would have it to lend, barring Buffle, and she never lends."
 
"You owe me twelve shillings already," answered Charlotte, pausing for a moment in her sewing.
 
"I know that. I'll pay you off by degrees, if it's only a shilling a week. I am a'most drove mad. Bankes's folks was here yesterday, and me and the girls had only four shillings to give 'em. I'm getting in , and Bankes's is as cranky over it as can be. It's all smooth and fair so long as you're buying of Bankes's and paying 'em; but just get behind, and see what short answers and sour looks you'll have!"
 
"But Amelia and Mary Ann took in their work on Saturday and had their money?"
 
"My patience! I don't know what us should do if they hadn't! We have to pay up everywhere. We're in debt at Buffle's, in debt to the , in debt for shoes; we're in debt on all sides. And there's Cross spending three shilling good of his wages at the public-house! It takes what me and the girls earn to pay a bit up here and there, and stop things from coming to Cross's ears. Half the house is in the -shop, and what'll become of us I don't know. I can't sleep o' nights, hardly, for thinking on't."
 
Charlotte felt sure that, were it her case, she should not sleep at all.
 
"The worst is, I have to keep the little 'uns away from school. Pay for 'em I can't. And a fine muck they get into, playing in the road all day. 'What does these children do to theirselves at school, to get into this dirty mess?' asks Cross, when he comes in. 'Oh, they plays a bit in the coming home,' says I. 'We plays a bit, father,' cries they, when they hears me, a-winking at each other to think how we does their father."
 
Charlotte shook her head. "I should end it all."
 
"End it! I wish we could end it! The girls is going to slave theirselves night and day this week and next. But it's not for my good: it's for their'n. They want to get their grand silks out o' pawn! Nothing but outside finery goes down with them, though they've not an inside rag to their backs. They leave care to me. Fools to be sure, they was, to buy them silks! They have been in the pawn-shop ever since, and Bankes's a-tearing 'em to pieces for the money!"
 
"I should end it by confessing to Jacob," said Charlotte, when she could get in a word. "He is not a bad husband——"
 
"And look at his temper!" broke in Mrs. Cross. "Let it get to his ears that we have gone on tick to Bankes's and elsewhere, and he'd the house out of winders."
 
"He would be angry at first, no doubt; but when he cooled down he would see the necessity of something being done, and help in it. If you all set on and put your shoulders to the wheel you might soon get clear. Live upon the very least that will satisfy hunger—the plainest food—dry bread and potatoes. No beer, no meat, no finery, no luxuries; and with the rest of the week's money begin to pay up. You'd be clear in no time."
 
Mrs. Cross stared in . "You be a Job's comforter, Charlotte! Dry bread and taters! who could put up with that?"
 
"When poor people like us fall into trouble, it is the only way that I know of to get out of it. I'd rather my appetite for a year than have my rest broken by care."
 
"Your advice is good enough for talking, Charlotte, but it don't answer for . Cross must have his bit o' meat and his beer, his butter and his cheese, his tea and his sugar—and so must the rest on us. But about this five shillings?—do lend it me, Charlotte! It is for the landlord: we're almost in a fix with him."
 
"For the landlord!" repeated Charlotte involuntarily. "You must keep him paid, or it would be the worst of all."
 
"I know we must. He was took bad yesterday—more's the !—and couldn't get round; but he's here to-day as burly as beef. We haven't paid him for this three weeks," she added, dropping her voice to an whisper; "and I declare to you, Charlotte East, that the sight of him at our door is as good to me as a dose of physic. Just now, round he comes, a-lifting the latch, and me turning sick the minute I sees him. 'Ready, Mrs. Cross?' asks he, in his short, surly way, putting his brown up. 'I'm sorry I ain't, Mr. Abbott, sir,' says I; 'but I'll have some next week for certain.' 'That won't do for me,' says he: 'I must have it this. If you can't give me some money, I shall apply to your husband.' The fright this put me into I've not got over yet, Charlotte; for Cross don't know but what the rent's paid up regular. 'I know what's going on,' old Abbott begins again, 'and I have knowed it for some time. You women in this Honey Fair, you pay your money to them Bankeses, which is the o' the place, and then you can't pay me.' Only fancy his calling Bankeses a blight!"
 
"That's just what they are," remarked Charlotte.
 
"For shame, Charlotte East! When one's way is a bit eased by being able to get a few things on trust, you must put in your word again it! Some of us would never get a new gown to our backs if it wasn't for Bankeses. Abbott's gone off to other houses, collecting; warning me as he'd call again in half an hour, and if some money wasn't ready for him then he'd go straight off to Jacob, to his shop o' work. If you can let me have one week for him, Charlotte—five shillings—I'll be ever grateful."
 
Charlotte rose, unlocked a drawer, and gave five shillings to Mrs. Cross, thinking in her own mind that the kindest course would be for the landlord to go to Cross, as he had threatened.
 
Mrs. Cross took the money. Her mind so far relieved, she could indulge in a little gossip; for Mr. Abbott's half-hour had not yet expired.
 
"I say, Charlotte, what d'ye think? I'm afraid Ben Tyrrett and our Mary Ann is a-going to take up together."
 
"Indeed!" exclaimed Charlotte. "That's new."
 
"Not over-new. They have been talking together on and off, but I never thought it was serious till last Sunday. I have set my face dead against it. He has a nasty temper of his own; and he's nothi............