ll come back here and bundle you out,
an' sell the furniture to pay my rent. I ain't a-goin' to be done out
o' my money because your mother chooses to git run'd over."

The landlord did not wait for a reply, but went out and slammed the
door.

Jack followed him in silent horror. He watched him while he inquired at
the gate of the hospital, and, after he had gone, went up timidly, rang
the bell, and asked for his mother.

"Mrs Matterby?" repeated the porter. "Come in; I'll make inquiry."

The report which he brought back fell like the blow of a sledge-hammer
on the poor boy's heart. His mother, they told him, was dead. She had
died suddenly in the night.

There are times of affliction, when the human soul fails to find relief
in tears or cries. Poor Jack Matterby stood for some time motionless,
as if paralysed, with glaring eyes and a face not unlike to that of
death. They sought to rouse him, but he could not speak. Suddenly,
observing the front door open, he darted out into the street, and ran
straight home, where he flung himself on his mother's bed, and burst
into an uncontrollable flood of tears. By degrees the passion subsided,
leaving only a stunned feeling behind, under the influence of which he
lay perfectly still.

The first thing that roused him was the sound of a heavy foot on the
stair. The memory of the landlord flashed into his mind and filled him
with indescribable dread--dread caused partly by the man's savage aspect
and nature, but much more by the brutal way in which he had spoken about
his mother. The only way in which to avoid a meeting was to rush past
the man on the stair. Fear and loathing made the poor boy forget, for
the moment, his crushing sorrow. He leaped up, opened the door, and,
dashing downstairs, almost overturned the man who was coming up. Once
in the street, he ran straight on without thought, until he felt that he
was safe from pursuit. Then he stopped, and sat down on a door-step--to
think what he should do; for, having been told that the furniture of his
old home was to be sold, and himself turned out, he felt that returning
there would be useless, and would only expose him to the risk of meeting
the awful landlord. While he was yet buried in thought, one of those
sprightly creatures of the great city, known as street arabs, accosted
him in a grave and friendly tone.

"My sweet little toolip," he said, "can I do anythink for you?"

Despite his grief Jack cou