g forward hid her face in her hand.

"Come, I think we will go now," said Sir Richard, rising hastily.
"Good-night, Mrs Frog, I shall probably see you again--at least--you
shall hear from me. Now, Di--say good-night to your boy."

In a few minutes Sir Richard stood outside, taking in deep draughts of
the comparatively fresher air of the court.

"The old screw," growled Bobby, when the door was shut. "'E didn't
leave us so much as a single bob--not even a brown, though 'e pretends
that six of 'em ain't much."

"Don't be hard on him, Bobby," said Hetty, drying her eyes; "he spoke
very kind, you know, an' p'raps he means to help us afterwards."

"Spoke kind," retorted the indignant boy; "I tell 'ee wot, Hetty, you're
far too soft an' forgivin'. I s'pose that's wot they teaches you in
Sunday-school at George Yard--eh? Vill speakin' kind feed us, vill it
clothe us, vill it pay for our lodgin's!"

The door opened at that moment, and Number 666 re-entered.

"The gentleman sent me back to give you this, Mrs Frog," laying a
sovereign on the rickety table. "He said he didn't like to offer it to
you himself for fear of hurting your feelings, but I told him he needn't
be afraid on that score! Was I right, Missis? Look well after it, now,
an' see that Ned don't get his fingers on it."

Giles left the room, and Mrs Frog, taking up the piece of gold, fondled
it for some time in her thin fingers, as though she wished to make quite
sure of its reality. Then wrapping it carefully in a piece of old
newspaper, she thrust it into her bosom.

Bobby gazed at her in silence up to this point, and then turned his face
to the wall. He did not speak, but we cannot say that he did not pray,
for, mentally he said, "I beg your parding, old gen'l'm'n, an' I on'y
pray that a lot of fellers like you may come 'ere sometimes to 'urt our
feelin's in that vay!"

At that moment Hetty bent over the bed, and, softly kissing her
brother's dirty face, whispered, "Yes, Bobby, that's what they teach me
in Sunday-school at George Yard."

Thereafter Wealth drove home in a cab, and Poverty went to bed in her
rags.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

BICYCLING AND ITS OCCASIONAL RESULTS.

It is pleasant to turn from the smoke and turmoil of the city to the
fresh air and quiet of the country.

To the man who spends most of his time in the heart of London, going
into the country--even for a short distance--is like passing into the
fields of Elysium. This w