lad,--I don't know an unhappier thing than discontent. When you want to
measure your happiness, don't go and set your ell-wand against him
that's got more than you have, but against him that's got less. Bread
and content's a finer dinner any day than fat capon with grumble-sauce.
We can't all be alike; some are up, and some down: but it isn't them at
the top of the tree that's got the softest bed to lie on, nor them that
sup on the richest pasties that most enjoy their supper. If a man wants
to be comfortable, he must keep his heart clear of envy, and put a good
will into his work. I believe a man may come to take pleasure in any
thing, even the veriest drudgery, that brings a good heart to it and
does his best to turn it out well."

"I am sure of that," was the response, heartily given.

The baker was pleased with the hearty response to the neat epigrammatic
apothegms wherein he delighted to unfold himself. He nodded approval.

"I'll take you on trial for a month," he said. "And if you've given
yourself a true character, you'll stay longer. I'll pay you--No, we'll
settle that question when I have seen how you work."

"I'll stay as long as I can," was the answer, as the young man turned to
leave the shop.

"Tarry a whit! What's your name, and how old are you?"

"I am one-and-thirty years of age, and my name is Stephen."

"Good. Be here when the vesper bell begins to ring."

Stephen went up to Cheapside, turned along it, up Lady Cicely's Lane,
and out into Smithfield by one of the small posterns in the City wall.
Entering a small house in Cock Lane, he went up a long ladder leading to
a tiny chamber, screened-off from a garret. Here a tabby cat came to
meet him, and rubbed itself against his legs as he stooped down to
caress it, while Ermine, who sat on the solitary bench, looked up
brightly to greet him.

"Any success, Stephen?"

"Thy prayer is heard, sweet heart. I have entered the service of a
baker in Bread Street,--a good-humoured fellow who would take me at my
own word. I told him I had no one to refer him to for a character but
you,--I did not think of Gib, or I might have added him. You'd speak
for me, wouldn't you, old tabby?"

Gib replied by an evidently affirmative "Me-ew!"

"I'll give you an excellent character," said Ermine, smiling, "and so
will Gib, I am sure."

The baker was well satisfied when his new hand reached the Harp exactly
as the vesper bell sounded its first stroke at