things so bright that I could easily have seen my face
in them.

Eliza, who was Mr. Baker's housekeeper, watched me with evident
enjoyment, and before the plate was empty she rose to replenish it. I
felt thankful that Providence had guided me to Mr. Baker's door, and
devoutly hoped that I should not be turned away that night. I realised
instinctively that these were the sort of people who would not turn a
dog from their door if he needed succour, and by the time I had finished
my meat, and had begun to eat a large portion of apple tart with a great
many cloves in it, it appeared certain that there was shelter for one
night, at least. At last I finished the last piece of thick and rather
heavy piecrust, and sat waiting to see what would happen next.

'Now,' said Eliza, 'I should think the next thing ought to be to clean
yourself.'

'I should like it immensely,' I answered.

So she led me to a wash-house behind the kitchen, and brought a large
bowl of enamelled iron, filling it with very hot water. A cake of yellow
soap and a jack-towel were provided, and taking off my jacket and
waistcoat, I enjoyed a thoroughly good wash.

'Let me see what I can do with those,' said Eliza, taking my jacket and
waistcoat, and when she brought them back as I dried my hands they
certainly looked a little less dusty. She lent me a hard brush to brush
my knickerbockers, stockings, and boots, and although there were several
rents in my jacket, I began to feel something like a respectable member
of society again.

'Now,' cried Eliza, regarding me with evident approval, 'suppose you
come and see Mr. Baker.'

She led me to the room where I had seen her, earlier in the evening,
draw down the red blind, and he was seated in an arm-chair with a wooden
pipe in his mouth.

'Sit down,' he said, and nothing loth, for my legs still ached
painfully, I took a chair by the door. 'Now,' he continued, 'how did you
get yourself into such a state, and how is it you are wandering about
the country alone?'

'I ran away,' I answered, and Mr. Baker looked towards the door, which
Eliza had left half open.

'Eliza,' he exclaimed with a kind of chuckle, which seemed to confirm
the assurance that I had found a sympathetic listener--'Eliza,' he
shouted, 'the youngster's run away.'

'Has he, though?' said Eliza, coming to the threshold, where she
remained standing.

'From school?' he asked, and sliding down farther into his chair,
evidently prepared to