ile I've got it in my head,' said
Alfred. 'Mr. Cope said all this sickness was a cross to me, and I'd got
to take it up for our Saviour's sake. Well, and then mayn't yours be
being plagued and bullied, without any friends? I'm sure something like
it happened to our Lord; and He never said one word against them. Isn't
that the way you may be to follow Him?'

Illness and thought had made such things fully plain to Alfred, and his
words sank deep into Paul's mind; but there was not time for any answer,
for Harold was heard unlocking the door, and striding up three steps at a
time, sending his voice before him. 'Well, old chaps, have you
quarrelled yet? Have you been jolly together? I say, Mrs. Crabbe told
Ellen that the pudding was put into the boiler at eight o'clock last
night; and my Lady and Miss Jane went in to give it a stir! I'm to bring
you home a slice, you know; and Paul will know what a real pudding is
like.'

The two boys spent a happy quiet afternoon with Mrs. King; and Charles
Hayward brought all the singing boys down, that they might hear the
carols outside the window. Paul, much tired, was in his bed by that
time; but his last thought was that 'Good-will to Men' had come home to
him at last.

CHAPTER XI--BETTER DAYS FOR PAUL

Paul's reading was a great prize to Alfred, for he soon grew tired
himself; his sister could not spare time to read to him, and if she did,
she went mumbling on like a bee in a bottle. Her mother did much the
same, and Harold used to stumble and gabble, so that it was horrible to
hear him. Such reading as Paul's was a new light to them all, and was a
treat to Ellen as she worked as much as to Alfred; and Paul, with hands
as clean as Alfred's, was only too happy to get hold of a book, and
infinitely enjoyed the constant supply kept up by Miss Selby, to make up
for her not coming herself.

Then came the making out the accounts, a matter dreaded by all the
family. Ellen and Alfred both used to do the sums; but as they never
made them the same, Mrs. King always went by some reckoning of her own by
pencil dots on her thumb-nail, which took an enormous time, but never
went wrong. So the slate and the books came up after tea, one night, and
Ellen set to work with her mother to pick out every one's bill. There
might be about eight customers who had Christmas bills; but many an
accountant in a London shop would think eight hundred a less tough
business than did the K