let it go from me was like
going back into the dark.

"Not good-bye just yet!" said I, trying painfully to disengage myself
from my little carriage and mount the steps. John Halifax came to my
aid.

"Suppose you let me carry you. I could--and--and it would be great
fun, you know."

He tried to turn it into a jest, so as not to hurt me; but the tremble
in his voice was as tender as any woman's--tenderer than any woman's
_I_ ever was used to hear. I put my arms round his neck; he lifted me
safely and carefully, and set me at my own door. Then with another
good-bye he again turned to go.

My heart cried after him with an irrepressible cry. What I said I do
not remember, but it caused him to return.

"Is there anything more I can do for you, sir?"

"Don't call me 'sir'; I am only a boy like yourself. I want you; don't
go yet. Ah! here comes my father!"

John Halifax stood aside, and touched his cap with a respectful
deference, as the old man passed.

"So here thee be--hast thou taken care of my son? Did he give thee thy
groat, my lad?"

We had neither of us once thought of the money.

When I acknowledged this my father laughed, called John an honest lad,
and began searching in his pocket for some larger coin. I ventured to
draw his ear down and whispered something--but I got no answer;
meanwhile, John Halifax for the third time was going away.

"Stop, lad--I forget thy name--here is thy groat, and a shilling added,
for being kind to my son."

"Thank you, but I don't want payment for kindness."

He kept the groat, and put back the shilling into my father's hand.

"Eh!" said the old man, much astonished, "thee'rt an odd lad; but I
can't stay talking with thee. Come in to dinner, Phineas. I say,"
turning back to John Halifax with a sudden thought, "art thee hungry?"

"Very hungry." Nature gave way at last, and great tears came into the
poor lad's eyes. "Nearly starving."

"Bless me! then get in, and have thy dinner. But first--" and my
inexorable father held him by the shoulder; "thee art a decent lad,
come of decent parents?"

"Yes," almost indignantly.

"Thee works for thy living?"

"I do, whenever I can get it."

"Thee hast never been in gaol?"

"No!" thundered out the lad, with a furious look. "I don't want your
dinner, sir; I would have stayed, because your son asked me, and he was
civil to me, and I liked him. Now I think I had better go. Good day,
sir."

There is a verse i