feel for
others who are poor likewise."

Patch looked from the coin to her face, almost too much astonished to
be grateful. Donations to him usually consisted of pence or halfpence
flung into the gutter, or carelessly dropped on the roadway. That a
lady--and a very beautiful old lady she seemed to him, in spite of
the old-fashioned dress and speech--should stand to talk to him in a
civil, pleasant voice was something new indeed, especially after that
unfortunate blunder about her dog.

"We are none of us so poor that we cannot help each other in some
little way," she went on gently, perhaps mistaking the cause of his
silence.

"There ain't anybody poorer than me," Patch answered; and his
appearance certainly justified the statement. "Much I could help
other folk!"

"Try and find out; it only needs a word sometimes. Good-night,
friend, do not stay here longer than thee can help in thy wet
clothes."

Patch received all the injunctions respectfully for the sake of the
sixpence, and proceeded to carry out the first of them straightway.
As quickly as his battered shoes would allow he was out of sight on
his way to a certain well-known cook-shop. There, in all the
assurance of conscious wealth, he planted his elbows on the
window-ledge and critically surveyed the contents. Great joints of
meat, slabs of suet pudding, dotted here and there with currants,
one--but that was a very superior compound--with raisins, cakes and
pies in abundance.

A mingled odour of coffee and tea floated through the open door; and
Patch, sniffing up the delightful fragrance, went through a rapid
mental calculation of the glorious possibilities within his reach.

[Illustration: WHISTLING FOR IT. (_See p. 271._)]

"Coffee twopence, a fine big cup too, bread and sausage twopence, and
a lump of the currant pudding to wind up; something like a supper
that."

Poor hungry Patch! as he lifted his arms from the ledge a sudden
recollection of Mike under the dark archway came back to his mind. He
wished it had not obtruded itself just then; he had quite enough
trouble to get food for himself without looking after other people,
and yet something made him hesitate on the threshold and presently go
back to his old position, elbows on the window-ledge, while he
solemnly debated the matter in his own mind.

It was a subject he had never considered before in all his solitary
selfish life; kindly words or deeds had not been his portion, and the
gentle