her slipped the money into mine, and
left us.

I followed him with my eyes, as he went sturdily plashing down the
street; his broad, comfortable back, which owned a coat of true Quaker
cut, but spotless, warm, and fine; his ribbed hose and leathern
gaiters, and the wide-brimmed hat set over a fringe of grey hairs, that
crowned the whole with respectable dignity. He looked precisely what
he was--an honest, honourable, prosperous tradesman. I watched him down
the street--my good father, whom I respected perhaps even more than I
loved him. The Cornish lad watched him likewise.

It still rained slightly, so we remained under cover. John Halifax
leaned in his old place, and did not attempt to talk. Once only, when
the draught through the alley made me shiver, he pulled my cloak round
me carefully.

"You are not very strong, I'm afraid?"

"No."

Then he stood idly looking up at the opposite--the mayor's--house, with
its steps and portico, and its fourteen windows, one of which was open,
and a cluster of little heads visible there.

The mayor's children--I knew them all by sight, though nothing more;
for their father was a lawyer, and mine a tanner; they belonged to
Abbey folk and orthodoxy, I to the Society of Friends--the mayor's rosy
children seemed greatly amused by watching us shivering shelterers from
the rain. Doubtless our position made their own appear all the
pleasanter. For myself it mattered little; but for this poor,
desolate, homeless, wayfaring lad to stand in sight of their merry
nursery window, and hear the clatter of voices, and of not unwelcome
dinner-sounds--I wondered how he felt it.

Just at this minute another head came to the window, a somewhat older
child; I had met her with the rest; she was only a visitor. She looked
at us, then disappeared. Soon after, we saw the front door half
opened, and an evident struggle taking place behind it; we even heard
loud words across the narrow street.

"I will--I say I will."

"You shan't, Miss Ursula."

"But I will!"

And there stood the little girl, with a loaf in one hand and a
carving-knife in the other. She succeeded in cutting off a large
slice, and holding it out.

"Take it, poor boy!--you look so hungry. Do take it." But the servant
forced her in, and the door was shut upon a sharp cry.

It made John Halifax start, and look up at the nursery window, which
was likewise closed. We heard nothing more. After a minute he crossed
th