nerally cruised in waters where
such craft seldom sailed. Though almost nothing could now have
induced him to go down Jink Lane, yet about the time the company at
Mistress Croale's would be breaking up, he would on most nights be
lying in wait a short distance down the Widdiehill, ready to
minister to that one of his father's old comrades who might prove
most in need of his assistance; and if he showed him no gratitude,
Gibbie had not been trained in a school where he was taught to
expect or even to wish for any.

I could now give a whole chapter to the setting forth of the
pleasures the summer brought him, city summer as it was, but I must
content myself with saying that first of these, and not least, was
the mere absence of the cold of the other seasons, bringing with it
many privileges. He could lie down anywhere and sleep when he
would; or spend, if he pleased, whole nights awake, in a churchyard,
or on the deck of some vessel discharging her cargo at the quay, or
running about the still, sleeping streets. Thus he got to know the
shapes of some of the constellations, and not a few of the aspects
of the heavens. But even then he never felt alone, for he gazed at
the vista from the midst of a cityful of his fellows. Then there
were the scents of the laylocks and the roses and the carnations and
the sweet-peas, that came floating out from the gardens, contending
sometimes with those of the grocers' and chemists' shops. Now and
then too he came in for a small feed of strawberries, which were
very plentiful in their season. Sitting then on a hospitable
doorstep, with the feet and faces of friends passing him in both
directions, and love embodied in the warmth of summer all about him,
he would eat his strawberries, and inherit the earth.

CHAPTER VIII.

SAMBO.

No one was so sorry for the death of Sir George, or had so many kind
words to say in memory of him, as Mistress Croale. Neither was her
sorrow only because she had lost so good a customer, or even because
she had liked the man: I believe it was much enhanced by a vague
doubt that after all she was to blame for his death. In vain she
said to herself, and said truly, that it would have been far worse
for him, and Gibbie too, had he gone elsewhere for his drink; she
could not get the account settled with her conscience. She tried to
relieve herself by being kinder than before to the boy; but she was
greatly hindered in this by the fact that, aft