orld to consider himself a child of fortune
in that respect.

No! he had Master Love on his mind, and the memory of that blazing
_Newgate Calendar_ on his conscience, and, even at the cost of a further
reduction of his vanishing income, he determined not to return provided
with food for Love's body only, but also for Love's mind.

Accordingly he selected two very shabby and tattered volumes from the
"threepenny" tray--one a fragment of _Robinson Crusoe_, the other Part
One of the _Pilgrim's Progress_, and with these in his pocket and the
eatables in his hands, he returned to his charge as proud as a general
who has just relieved a starving garrison.

After the frugal supper the books were triumphantly produced, but Master
Love, still mindful of his recent tribulations, regarded them shyly at
first, as another possible bait to his own undoing; but presently
curiosity, and the sight of a wonderful picture of Giant Despair,
overcame his scruples, and he held out his hand eagerly.

It was amusing to watch the critical look on his face as he took a
preliminary glance through the pages of the two books. Reginald was
half sorry he had not produced them one at a time; but it being too late
now to recall either, he awaited with no little excitement the decision
of the young connoisseur upon them. Apparently Love found considerable
traces of what he would call "jam" in both. The picture of Crusoe
coming upon the footprint in the sand, and that of the great battle
between Christian and Apollyon, seemed to gather into themselves the
final claims of the two rivals, and for a few moments victory trembled
in the balance. At last he shut up _Robinson Crusoe_ and stuffed it in
his pocket.

"Say, what's yer name," said he, looking up and laying his finger on the
battle scene; "which of them two does for t'other?"

"The one in the armour," said Reginald.

"Thought so--t'other one's a flat to fight with that there long
flagpole. Soon as 'e's chucked it away 'e's a dead 'un. Say, what did
they do with 'is dead body? No use a 'idin' of it. If I was 'im I'd a
cut 'is throat, and left the razor in 'is 'and, and they'd a brought it
in soosanside. Bless you, coroners' juries is reg'lar flats at findin'
out them sort of things."

"Suppose you read what it says," said Reginald, hardly able to restrain
a laugh; "if you like you can read it aloud; I'd like to hear it again
myself."

The boy agreed, and that evening the two queerl