yourself. Be a
boy again, or a man if you like, and do as Charles the Second used to
do: go and feed the ducks. Well, what's the matter? there's no harm in
feeding ducks, is there?"

"Oh no," said the boy confusedly; "I'll go;" and he hurried out.

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT.

FEEDING THE DUCKS AGAIN.

"Go and feed the ducks," said Frank to himself, as he obtained some
biscuits, and, in his readiness to obey his elder's wishes, went slowly
toward the water-side; "how little he knows what a deal that means;"
and, almost unconsciously, he strolled on down to the side of the canal,
thinking of Mr George Selby and Drew, and of the various incidents
connected with his walks out there, which, with the duel, seemed in his
disturbed state of mind to have taken place years--instead of months--
ago, when he was a boy.

He went slowly on, forgetting all about the biscuits, till he noticed
that several of the water-fowl were swimming along, a few feet from the
bank, and watching him with inquiring eyes.

He stopped short, turned to face the water, which was sparkling brightly
in the sunshine, and taking a biscuit out of his capacious "salt-box
pocket," he began to break it in little bits and throw them to the
birds.

"Ah, what a deal has happened since we were here doing this that day,"
thought the boy; and his mind went back to his first meeting with Drew's
father, the invitation to the dinner, and the scene that evening in the
tavern.

"Please give me a bit, good gentleman," said a whining voice at his
elbow. "I'm so hungry, please, sir. Arn't had nothing since yes'day
morning, sir."

Frank turned sharply, to see that a ragged-looking street boy, whom he
had passed lying apparently asleep on the grass a few minutes before,
was standing close by, hugging himself with his arms, and holding his
rags as if to keep them from slipping off his shoulders. He wore a
dismally battered cocked hat which was a size too large for him, and
came down to his ears over his closely cropped hair. His shirt was
dirty and ragged, and his breeches and shoes were of the most
dilapidated character, the latter showing, through the gaping orifices
in front, his dirty, mud-encrusted toes.

Frank saw all this at a glance; but the poor fellow's face took his
attention most, for it was pitiable, thin, and careworn, and would have
been white but for the dirt with which it was smudged.

Frank looked at him with sovereign contempt.

"So hung