the little door with a penknife. What chake
to be sure! The hotel shows respect to its light-o'-day customers, but
the dim jug and bottle box is supposed to show respect to the hotel. It
calls the barman _Sir_. It said, "Good-night, sir!" in astonished
chorus to me.

But just as the mere act of jumping a skipping rope made me long ago a
freeman among the children, so I notice that fetching the supper beer
has resulted in another indefinable promotion. I am not so much now
'thic ther gen'leman tu Tony Widger's.' I am become 'Mister
So-and-so'--myself alone.

When I returned with the jug Jimmy was seated at the table and saying
between tears, "I want some supper, Mam. I be 'ungry."

"Yu daring rascal! Yu'll catch your death o' cold if yu goes on getting
your feet wet like this, night after night. I'll break every bone in
your body, I will! Take off they beuts to once, an' go on up over. An't
got no supper for the likes o' you. Yu shan't wear your best clothes
to-morrow, n'eet at all, spoiling 'em like this, yu dirty little cat!
I'll beat it out o' 'ee. Now then! Up over!"

Very tearful, very hungry, and very slowly, Jimmy went to bed.

"No supper's the thing for the likes o' he," his mother remarked. "I
shall gie it to him one o' these days, but I don't hold wi' knocking
'em about tu much."

Her impatience in speech and patience in action are alike
extraordinary. She says she will half kill the children and seldom
strikes even: if I had the responsibility of them, I fear I should do
both.

[Sidenote: _SUNDAY CLOTHES_]

Next morning there was a fine dispute over the Sunday clothes. Both
Jimmy and Tommy went upstairs defiantly, and routed them out. The
kitchen was filled with cries and jeers and threats. Tommy appealed to
me. I told him I knew nothing about it, because I hadn't got any Sunday
clothes myself.

"Iss, yu 'ave," said Tommy.

"No, not a rag."

"Yu 'ave."

"I haven't. I've none at all. You've never seen them."

"G'out!"

"That's right."

"Well," said Tommy confidentially, "Yu got a clean chimie-shirt then,
an't 'ee?"

In the laughter which followed, the Sunday clothes were slipped on. And
while Jimmy was struggling with a new pair of boots, he paid me the
nicest compliment I have ever heard. He looked up, red but thoughtful.
"Yu'm like Father Christmas," he said.

"Why for, Jimmy?"

"'Cause yu'm kind."

Jimmy doesn't know how kind he is to me. And I don't suppose it would
do him any g