the money; he
would even have uttered the indignation he felt, but, before he
could speak, his master left the room. Disappointed and heart-sick,
and feeling humiliated that he should have asked a favour of such a
man, the poor lad retired to his garret, and it was almost time to
get up in the morning before he could fall asleep. On the Tuesday,
when the day's work was over, Stephen packed up his bundle of
clothes;--should he say good-bye to his master? Yes; he would not be
ungracious at the last. He opened the door of the back parlour, and
stood just within the door-way, his bundle in his hand. His master
was sitting, solitary, at the tea-table.

"I am going, sir, good-bye," said Stephen.

"Good-bye, sir," returned his master, without, looking at him. And
so they parted.

The result of the application told, the mother and the son sat
together that night in silence; their hearts were too full for
words. Mary sorrowed most, because she had hoped most. Bitter tears
rolled down her cheeks, as she sat brooding over her disappointment.
Stephen looked more cheerful, for his mind was busy trying to form
plans for the future--how he should go about to seek for another
situation, &c. Bed-time came; both rose to retire to rest. Stephen
had pressed his mother's hand, and was retiring, saying as he went,
"Never mind, mother, it'll all be right yet," when they were
startled by a loud rap at the door.

"Who's there?" shouted Stephen.

"A letter for you," was the reply.

Stephen thought there was some mistake, but he opened the door. A
letter was put into his hand, and the bearer disappeared. Surprised,
Stephen held the letter close to the rush-light Mary was carrying.
He became still more surprised; it was addressed to Mrs. Gray, that
was his mother, and he thought he knew the handwriting; it was very
like his master's. Mary's look of wonder became suddenly brightened
by a flash of hope; she could not read writing--Stephen must read it
for her. He opened the letter, something like a banknote was the
first thing he saw--he examined it--it was actually a ten pound Bank
of England note; his heart beat rapidly, and so did his mother's;
what could this mean? But there was a little note which would
perhaps explain. Stephen's fingers trembled sadly as he opened it.
There were not many words, but they were to the purpose. Stephen
read them to himself before he read them aloud. And as he was
reading, his face turned very red, and ho