e quarrelled before he went
off to Ironboro', but he'll come and see to things and take charge of
little Dick. And there'll be enough to pay for his upbringing, when
all's said and done." But the letter was conveniently forgotten, and
presently thrust into the flames, and the leathern pouch with its store
of gold greedily taken possession of, as soon as the lodger was dead.
And like all ill-gotten gains, the gold rapidly melted away.

"Who could have knowed about it, and told the boy?" she muttered with
growing anxiety, as she went to the door to look out for the runaway.

But there was nothing but the murky gloom, with a faint reflection of
light from the lamps far down the road, and a noise of rough play in
the distance. The children of the row--her own among them--were having
their usual street games in spite of the fog and chill, but Dick would
not be there, she knew. For he was different from the rest, and hated
the rough horse-play and bad language with all his might.

"I must have a sup to make me forget it," she muttered again. "He
looked for all the world like his father. I told Fowley at the time it
would come home to us, and it will."

Noisily the children came in, clamoured for supper, and took it in
their dirty hands, and then went to bed.

Their father was helped home at closing time, too far gone to remember
what had happened, but no Dick came in.

Bareheaded he had run away through the fog, his thin jacket and broken
boots a poor protection from the biting cold, but in his excitement he
scarcely felt it.

In a hiding place in the lining of his old jacket he had the little
pocket Bible that had been his mother's gift, with his name, Richard
Hart Crosby, on the fly leaf.

Folded small within it were the torn remains of a once handsome crimson
and blue silk handkerchief, the only memento of his father he
possessed. Somehow it had escaped the utter destruction that visited
all good things in Mrs. Fowley's keeping, and Dick treasured it more
than words could tell.

Feeling with his hand to be sure his treasures were safe, he ran
breathlessly on to Paddy's lodgings, in a back street not far from the
tin works.

Paddy had good work and fair wages, and might have been comfortably
off, but, alas, the "Blue Dragon" was not the only evil beast in
Venley, and much of Paddy's money went to the till of the "Brown Bear"
at the corner. Not that he drank deeply himself, but he loved the
warmth and co