lliant. I had
to endure a regular broadside of quizzing from my fellow-lodgers that
morning at breakfast, which certainly did not tend to cheer me up in the
prospect of presenting myself shortly at Hawk Street. I would fain have
been spared that ceremony!

There arrived, as I was starting out, a hurried line from Mrs Shield,
announcing that Jack was "much the same," which of course meant he was
still very ill.

Poor Jack! I had been so taken up with my own fancied ailment that I
had scarcely thought of him. As it was I could hardly realise that he
was so very ill.

Little had we imagined that evening when he caught up the half-murdered
urchin in his arms and carried him to our lodgings what the result of
that act would be to one of us! And yet, if it were to do again, I
fancied my friend Smith would do it again, whatever it cost. But to
think of his being so ill, possibly losing his life, all for a graceless
young vagabond who--

"Clean 'e boots, do y' hear, clean 'e boots, sir?"

Looking towards the sound, I saw the very object of my thoughts in front
of me. He was clad in a tattered old tail coat, and trousers twice the
size of his little legs. His head and feet were bare, and there seemed
little enough semblance of a shirt. Altogether it was the most
"scarecrowy" apparition I ever came across.

"Shine 'e boots, master?" he cried, flourishing a blacking-brush in
either hand, and standing across my path.

I stopped short, and answered solemnly, "Where's that sixpence you stole
out of my pocket, you young thief?"

I expected he would be overawed and conscience-stricken by the sudden
accusation. But instead of that he fired up with the most virtuous
indignation.

"What do yer mean, young thief? I ain't a-goin'--Oh, my Jemimer, it's
one of them two flats. Oh, here's a go! Shine 'e boots, mister?"

There were certainly very few signs of penitence about this queer boy.
This was pleasant, certainly. Not only robbed, but laughed at by the
thief, a little mite of a fellow like this!

"I've a great mind to call a policeman and give you in charge," said I.

He must have seen that I was not in earnest, for he replied, gaily, "No,
yer don't. Ef yer do, I'll run yer in for prize-fightin', so now."

"How much do you earn by blacking boots?" I asked, feeling an
involuntary interest in this strange gutter lad.

"Some days I gets a tanner. But, bless you, I ain't a brigade bloke. I
say, though, where