I asked if the brickmaker's wife were ill, but Charley said no. It was some one else. Some one in her cottage who had tramped down to Saint Albans and was tramping he didn't know where. A poor boy, Charley said. No father, no mother, no any one. "Like as Tom might have been, miss, if Emma and me had died after father," said Charley, her round eyes filling with tears.

I asked if the brickmaker's wife were ill, but Charley said no. It was some one else in her cottage, who had tramped down to Saint Albans. A poor boy, Charley said, her eyes filling with tears. No father, no mother, no any one.
