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HE Lump shan't go into the workhouse—ever," said the angel child, with the red hair, firmly. Then after a pause she added even more firmly, "I won't let him."

Mrs. Brown shook her shapely head: she was the wife of a policeman. The gloom on her so round and usually so cheerful face deepened; and she said despondently, "I don't know how you'll manage—you bein' so young, an' work that 'ard to git."

"Aunt Hannah told me never to let the Lump go into the workhouse the last afternoon I saw her at the hospital; and I promised her he never should; and he shan't," said the angel child in the same tone of cold resolution. "I've got twenty-two shillings as it is."