er fixed itself on my mind. Surely he
would not refuse me--me, his sickly boy, whose life had in it so little
pleasure.

"Why do you want to go? You have no work?"

"No; I wish I had. But I'll get some."

"How?"

"Just by trying everything that comes to hand. That's the only way. I
never wanted bread, nor begged it, yet--though I've often been rather
hungry. And as for clothes"--he looked down on his own, light and
threadbare, here and there almost burst into holes by the stout muscles
of the big growing boy--looked rather disconsolately. "I'm afraid SHE
would be sorry--that's all! She always kept me so tidy."

By the way he spoke, "SHE" must have meant his mother. There the
orphan lad had an advantage over me; alas! I did not remember mine.

"Come," I said, for now I had quite made up my mind to take no denial,
and fear no rebuff from my father; "cheer up. Who knows what may turn
up?"

"Oh yes, something always does; I'm not afraid!" He tossed back his
curls, and looked smiling out through the window at the blue sky; that
steady, brave, honest smile, which will meet Fate in every turn, and
fairly coax the jade into good humour.

"John, do you know you're uncommonly like a childish hero of mine--Dick
Whittington? Did you ever hear of him?"

"No."

"Come into the garden then"--for I caught another ominous vision of
Jael in the doorway, and I did not want to vex my good old nurse;
besides, unlike John, I was anything but brave. "You'll hear the Abbey
bells chime presently--not unlike Bow bells, I used to fancy sometimes;
and we'll lie on the grass, and I'll tell you the whole true and
particular story of Sir Richard Whittington."

I lifted myself, and began looking for my crutches. John found and put
them into my hand, with a grave, pitiful look.

"You don't need those sort of things," I said, making pretence to
laugh, for I had not grown used to them, and felt often ashamed.

"I hope you will not need them always."

"Perhaps not--Dr. Jessop isn't sure. But it doesn't matter much; most
likely I shan't live long." For this was, God forgive me, always the
last and greatest comfort I had.

John looked at me--surprised, troubled, compassionate--but he did not
say a word. I hobbled past him; he following through the long passage
to the garden door. There I paused--tired out. John Halifax took
gentle hold of my shoulder.

"I think, if you did not mind, I'm sure I could carry you. I carried