brushed hair or his shiny
face. His eyes, too, seemed to have grown bigger. Alfred had been a
vulgar little boy, addicted to slang and immoderately fond of noisy
games. Burton tried to call him back to his mind. It was impossible to
connect him in any way with the child whom, through a crack in the door,
he could see standing upon a chair the better to scrutinize closely the
few engravings which hung upon the wall. Without a doubt, a new
responsibility in life had arrived. To meet it, Burton had a little
less than two pounds, and the weekly money to send to Ellen within a few
days. He took Alfred out to luncheon.

"I am afraid," he said, beginning their conversation anew, "that even if
I am able to keep you with me for a short time, you will find it
exceedingly dull."

"I do not mind being dull in the least, father," the boy replied.
"Mother is always wanting me to play silly games out in the street, with
boys whom I don't like at all."

"I used to see you playing with them often," his father reminded him.

The child looked puzzled. He appeared to be trying to recollect
something.

"Daddy, some things in the world seem so funny," he said, thoughtfully.
"I know that I used to like to play with Teddy Miles and Dick, hopscotch
and marbles, and relievo. Relievo is a very rough game, and marbles
makes one very dirty and dusty. Still, I know that I used to like to
play those games. I don't want to now a bit. I would rather read. If
you are busy, daddy, I shan't mind a bit. Please don't think that you
will have to play with me. I want to read, I shall be quite happy
reading all the time. Mr. Denschem has given me a list of books.
Perhaps you have some of them. If not, couldn't we get some out of a
library?"

Burton looked at the list which the boy produced, and groaned to
himself.

"My dear Alfred," he protested, "these books are for almost grown-up
people."

The boy smiled confidently.

"Mr. Denschem gave me the list, father," he repeated simply.

After lunch, Burton took the boy round to Mr. Waddington's office. Mr.
Waddington was deep in a book of engravings which he had just purchased.
He welcomed Burton warmly and gazed with surprise at the child.

"Alfred," his father directed, "go and sit in that easy-chair for a few
minutes. I want to talk to Mr. Waddington."

The child obeyed at once. His eyes, however, were longingly fixed upon
the book of engravings.

"Perhaps you would like to have a look at these