er footstool as she retired to an easy-chair, with a glass
of port wine, on a little table at her side, and a volume of Blair's
sermons, which were both agreeable sedatives, and conducive to a
prolonged sleep. Bryda then went hastily upstairs, and tying on her high
poke bonnet, slipped out at the front door, and found, as she expected,
Jack awaiting her at the corner of the square. The sight of his
friendly, honest face had never been so welcome before, and she showed
her pleasure by the warmth of her greeting.

'Oh, Jack,' she said, 'will you take me to see that poor boy's mother?'

'What poor boy?' Jack asked.

'Tom Chatterton, of course, the poet. I _do_ pity him so much. He is
miserable and unhappy, and you know, Jack, so am I, and therefore I
understand how he feels. Besides, I want to get far away from Mr Lambert
this afternoon, for the cruel Squire has followed me, and is now talking
to Mr Lambert. I know what he is saying. I dread him, I am afraid of
him.'

'Afraid of him? How can you be afraid of him? I will soon show him what
I can do if he dares to molest you. Let him try, that's all.'

'Oh, don't quarrel with him, Jack, that would only make matters worse.
Don't talk of him. I want to forget him, and see the poor boy's grand
church he says is so beautiful, and his mother and his sister.'

'They are quite poor folks,' Jack said, 'but come along. I would take
you to the end of the world if you wanted. But will Madam Lambert be
angry at you for coming out?'

'She said I was to have time to myself on Sundays, and I have been to
church with her this morning. She gave me her books to carry. Such big
heavy books.'

'The poor boy,' as Bryda called him, had been pacing up and down on the
wide open space before St Mary's Redcliffe for some time.

He had been unwilling to go too near Dowry Square to meet Bryda, for
fear of a reprimand if he chanced to be seen by his master or Mrs
Lambert.

At the same time he was doubtful as to Bryda finding her way alone, and
he had asked Jack Henderson to go to Dowry Square and bring her to his
mother's house.

The apprentice in his workaday dress presented a very different
appearance from the apprentice in his holiday attire.

Chatterton always liked to do his best to cut a respectable figure
amongst his associates.

His coat of mulberry cloth had, it is true, been bought second-hand with
some difficulty, but it set off his slight, boyish figure to advantage.
His kne