it. Barney was a liar and a thief.
These accomplishments, indeed, had formed the principal features in poor
Barney's education from his tenderest childhood. He had always been
taught that it was desirable and proper to lie and steal; the only wrong
and undesirable thing was--to be found out. To do Barney justice he
very seldom _was_ found out; nimble of finger and quick of wit he had
profited well by his lessons, and by the time Frank met him had long
been a finished scholar, and able to "do" for himself. In spite of
these failings he was a kind-hearted boy; he would not have hurt any
living thing weaker than himself, and Frank's pale face and slender form
soon appealed to his protective instincts in much the same way that his
white mice did, for which he cherished a fond affection.

If the night were cold he always managed that the Nipper had the warmest
shelter, and when provisions were scarce the least tasty morsels were
always reserved for himself, as a matter of course. Then what an
amusing companion he was! How his ingenious stories, mostly a tissue of
falsehood, beguiled the weary way, and made Frank forget his aching
feet! He believed them all at first, and his innocent credulousness
acted as a spur to Barney's fertile invention and excited him to fresh
and wilder efforts. On one occasion, however, his imagination carried
him beyond the limits of even Frank's capacity of belief, and from that
moment suspicion began. He had been romancing about the riches and
wealth of people who lived in London (where he had never been), and
after describing at great length that the houses were none of them
smaller than the whole town of Wickham put together, he added:

"An the folks niver uses ought but gowld to eat an drink off."

Frank looked up quickly.

"You're wrong there," he said. "My mother's got a chany jug what used
to belong to her grandfather, and _he_ lived in Lunnon." Observing a
twinkle in the corner of Barney's eye he continued in an injured tone:

"You've bin lyin'. Lies is wicked, and stealin's wicked too."

There was a sound of conscious superiority in his tone, which was
naturally irritating to his companion, who laughed hoarsely.

"Jest listen to him," he said, addressing Lord Beaconsfield for want of
a more intelligent audience, "listen to him! Don't he preach fine? An'
him a boy without a carikter too! Lies is wicked, eh? And stealin's
wicked. Who told him that, I wonder?"

"It's