e sent up this year," I replied, in all my
newly-fledged importance as a young clerk.

"You had better go up with Ike to-night, Grant," said the old man
suddenly. "You are big enough now, and a night out won't hurt you.
Here, Ike!"

"Yes, master."

"You'll want a little help to-morrow morning to stand by you in the
market. Will you have Shock?"

"Yes, master, he's the very thing, if you'll send some one to hold him,
or lend me a dog-collar and chain."

"Don't be an idiot, Ike," said Old Brownsmith sharply.

"No, master."

"Would you rather have this boy?"

"Would I rather? Just hark at him!"

Ike looked round at me as if this was an excellent joke, but Old
Brownsmith took it as being perfectly serious, and gave Ike a series of
instructions about taking care of me.

"Of course you will not go to a public-house on the road."

"'Tain't likely," growled Ike, "'less he gets leading me astray and
takes me there."

"There's a coffee-shop in Great Russell Street where you can get your
breakfasts."

"Lookye here, master," growled Ike in an ill-humoured voice, "ain't I
been to market afore?"

"I shall leave him in your charge, Ike, and expect you to take care of
him."

"Oh, all right, master!" said Ike, and then the old gentleman gave me a
nod and walked away.

"At last, Ike!" I cried. "Hurrah! Why, what's the matter?"

"What's the matter?" said Ike in tones of disgust; "why, everything's
the matter. Here, let's have a look at you, boy. Yes," he continued,
turning me round, and as if talking to himself, "it is a boy. Any one
to hear him would have thought it was a sugar-stick."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

A NIGHT JOURNEY.

It seemed to me as if starting-time would never come, and I fidgeted in
and out from the kitchen to the stable to see if Ike had come back,
while Mrs Dodley kept on shaking her at me in a pitying way.

"Hadn't you better give it, up, my dear?" she said dolefully. "Out all
night! It'll be a trying time."

"What nonsense!" I said. "Why, sailors have to keep watch of a night
regularly."

"When the stormy wynds do blow," said Mrs Dodley with something between
a sniff and a sob. "Does Mrs Beeton know you are going?"

"No," I said stoutly.

"My poor orphan bye," she said with a real sob. "Don't--don't go."

"Why, Mrs Dodley," I cried, "any one would think I was a baby."

"Here, Grant," cried Mr Brownsmith, "hadn't you better lie down for an
hour or two. You've plenty