in
the long rough coat, and he was whispering, 'Poor Puck,' and 'Good little
doggie;' and the little hairy rummaging creature, with the bright black
beads of eyes gleaming out from under his shaggy hair, was doing him more
good than her sense and kindness, or Ellen's either.

She turned to the window, and said to Ellen, 'What a wild-looking lad
that is on the bridge!'

'Yes, Miss Jane,' said Ellen; 'I was quite afraid he would frighten you.'

'Well, I was surprised,' said Jane; 'I was afraid he might speak to me;
but then I knew I was too near friends for harm to come to me;' and she
laughed at her own fears. 'How ragged and wretched he looks! Has he
been begging?'

'No, Miss Jane; he came into the shop, and bought some bread. He paid
for it honestly; but I never did see any one so dirty. And there's
Alfred wishing to be like him. I knew you would tell him it is quite
wicked, Miss Jane.'

It is not right, I suppose, to wish to be anything but what we are,' said
Jane, rather puzzled by the appeal; 'and perhaps that poor beggar-boy
would only like to have a nice room, and kind mother and sister, like
you, Alfred.'

'I don't say anything against them!' cried the boy vehemently;
'but--but--I'd give anything--anything in the world--to be able to run
about again in the hay-field! No, don't talk to me, Ellen, I say--I hate
them all when I see them there, and I forced to lie here! I wish the sun
would never shine!'

He hid his eyes and ears in the pillow, as if he never wished to see the
light again, and would hear nothing. The two girls both stood trembling.
Ellen looked at Miss Selby, and she felt that she must say something. But
what could she say?

With tears in her eyes she laid hold of Alfred's thin hand and tried to
speak, choked by tears. 'Dear Alfred, don't say such dreadful things.
You know we are all so sorry for you; but God sent it.'

Alfred gave a groan of utter distress, as if it were no consolation.

'And--and things come to do us good,' continued Miss Jane, the tears
starting to her cheeks.

'I don't know what good it can do me to lie here!' cried Alfred.

'Oh, but, Alfred, it must.'

'I tell you,' exclaimed the poor boy, forgetting his manners, so that
Ellen stood dismayed, 'it does not do me good! I didn't use to hate
Harold, nor to hate everybody.'

'To hate Harold!' said Jane faintly.

'Ay,' said Alfred, 'when I hear him whooping about like mad, and jumping
and leaping, and g