Lost Gip by Hesba Stretton

BUT Mr. Shafto found it no easy task to shake off the chains of idleness and selfishness which he had allowed himself to be bound by so many years. One effort and one day's labour did not set him free; the habits of his life were too strong for that. Besides, he had no real business to turn to. He had taken up with the undertaker's trade out of sheer idleness; and since the grave-yard had been closed, and no funerals permitted in it, all his chance of employment in that way had gone. This he had not cared about, so long as his wife's industry had supplied him with his own comforts. The little house they lived in belonged to turn having come to him from his grandfather, the minister, whose smoky tablet still remained on the chapel wall. It was not much, he had often said in his heart, for his wife to earn the mere food and clothing.

So now there was positively no work he could do. He sauntered about looking for Gip a little; but there was no hope of success to encourage him. After he had been to a few police-stations and workhouses with Sandy, it seemed nothing but a waste of time to go on strolling about the streets enquiring after a child who had been lost so long. Even Sandy began to feel this, though he could not bring himself to give up the hope of finding her somewhere and somehow. Whenever he caught sight of a tiny ragged girl, or heard the voice of a little child, he could not help looking and listening if it were not his little Gip. But he had not much more time for the search; for Mr. Shafto found regular work for Sandy, though he could find none for himself.