m which he had begun to
consider "home" that he realised the full weight of the calamity that
had befallen him. No mother's voice to welcome him; no bit of fire in
the grate to warm; no singing kettle to cheer, or light of candle to
dispel the gloom of rapidly approaching night.

It was Christmas Day too. In the morning he had gone forth with his
mother--she in the sanguine hope of renewing an engagement in a
clothier's shop, which terminated that day; he in the expectation of
getting a few jobs of some sort--messages to run or horses to hold.
Such were the circumstances to which they had been reduced in twelve
months, Jack had arranged to call for his mother and walk home with her.
On the way they were to invest a _very_ small part of the widow's
earnings in "something nice" for their Christmas supper, and spend the
evening together, chatting about the old home in Blackby, and father,
and Natty Grove, and Nellie, and old Nell, in the happy days gone by.

"And now!" thought Jack, seating himself on his little bed and glancing
at that of his mother, which stood empty in the opposite
corner--"now!--"

But Jack could think no more. A tremendous agony rent his breast, and a
sharp cry escaped from him as he flung himself on his bed and burst into
a passion of tears.

Child-like, he sobbed himself to sleep, and did not awake till the sun
was high next morning. It was some time before he could recall what had
occurred. When he did so he began to weep afresh. Leaping up, he was
about to rush out of the house and make for the hospital, when he was
checked at the door by the landlord--a hard, grinding, heartless man,
who grew rich in oppressing the poor.

"You seem to be in a hurry, youngster," he said, dragging the boy back
by the collar, and looking hurriedly round the room. "I've come for the
rent. Where's your mother?"

In a sobbing voice Jack told him about the accident.

"Well, I don't really believe you," said the man, with an angry frown;
"but I'll soon find out if you're telling lies. I'll go to the hospital
and inquire for myself. D'ee know anything about your mother's
affairs?"

"No, sir," said Jack, meekly, for he began to entertain a vague terror
of the man.

"No; I thought not. Well, I'll enlighten you. Your mother owes me
three weeks' rent of this here room, and has got nothing to pay it with,
as far as I knows, except these sticks o' furniture. Now, if your
mother is really in hospital, I'