Mr. Absalom and ask him a question, and he said something about learning to be useful, and earning some money to keep the house going."

"Poor lad-poor lad! And he a-going down to the grave as quick as the pestle comes down into the mortar. No, no, wife, you must not let him work his poor bit of life out: he hasn't the strength to work in the factory, and as to his brains, why you might fit them in a teacup."

"He's not a stupid lad, is Toddy; and his cough is no worse than it were these five years,” observed Mrs. Adams, deprecatingly, "not that I want to grind the poor child down, but I would be a'most as sorry to cross him."

Well, well-let it be awhile. But what can old Absalom do for him-that's what I want to know? and what could make the boy take a fancy to such a queer old bird? I'm not one for giving of nicknames, but with his long nose, and his coattail hanging down, the name of the Vulture suits him to a T, so it do."

"And I hear," replied Mrs. Adams, "that on pay-day he comes down on the heads of the idle boys like a needle-hammer."

"I don't blame him for that, wife. I wish he would come down on Mark's head a little oftener, and drive the folly out of it. The moment he's out of the factory, the lad's off at some wild prank or other."

"Aye, that's true, too; but what can you expect when a child's been roasted at the furnace all the

long day? Though I blame him myself, I feel a kind of pity for him."

"I tell you what I'd expect. I'd expect he'd be trying to work his way out of it, and not stickin i' the mud all his life long."

Mrs. Adams sighed two deep-drawn sighs-the first for Mark, wild and impetuous and idle, but not altogether devoid of good feeling-the second for poor Stephen, feeble, sickly, and uncomplaining, who, shunning all confidence or proffered sympathy, had crept away to his garret bedroom; and the not altogether unmotherly question arose in her heart as to which of her two strange boys— so different in their ways of showing their affection -loved her best.

It was quite true that to-night Stephen had shunned all confidence and sympathy; he felt, as he walked home from the office, as if he had found some new, lustrous jewel shining within his head, that seemed to brighten up the dark alleys through which he walked, and illumine the pathway before him. As he opened the door of his home, and Mark's coarse joke met his ears, it seemed suddenly to die down, and grow quite dull. He could not explain how it was; but he felt if he spoke of it to any one-even to his mother-the bright spark would die out altogether. So he crept up into the garret and sat down by Benjamin's bed; and as he held the little boy's hand soothingly, the light seemed to come back and brighten up all his thoughts.

He would not care any more if they called him a Toad. He was going to work, and strive, and struggle to work for those he loved-for his father, his mother, and little Benjamin. He turned round and looked at the little face, so calm and peaceful in the still moonlight which came in through the window by the bedside, and Mr. Absalom's parting words came back into his mind about working for God and for the Saviour who folds the lambs in His bosom; and he prayed that whatever work he took in hand God would bless, and that though he was no longer a very little child, Christ would still watch over him and lead him in the way he should go.

CHAPTER IV.

STEPHEN'S SECRET.

LITTLE Benjamin awoke rather late on the morning of the new year, and he was not long in rousing his companion.

"Toddy, open your eyes; do, Steenie, please; there are three sparrows on the window-sill, and they are all nodding at me."

Stephen yawned and turned on his pillow. He had lain awake so long last night, he was inclined to rest heavily now.

"Now they are all flown away, off into a large tree. Why do birds get up so early in the morning, Steenie, when it's so dark and cold?"

"To look for worms, I suppose," grunted Stephen, rubbing his eyes.

"What do they want worms for ?"

"For their breakfast, of course."

"And if we got up early, Steenie, should we find our breakfast ?"

"That depends," replied Stephen, "whether some one else got up earlier still to get it ready for us."

"Who gets up in this house to get our worms ready for us?"

"Our breakfast, you mean," laughed Stephen. "Why, mother, of course."

"All in the dark and the cold like the little birds," sighed Benjamin. "Why does not some one else get up earlier still, and have it ready for her, why, Steenie ?"

"Because, because, I suppose" Here he stopped and paused for a moment, as if something had suddenly come back upon his mind. "What o'clock is it, I wonder?"

"The factory bell has just rung eight."

Eight!" cried Stephen, leaping up in his bed; "then they are all gone off to their work long ago, and I never heard any one stirring. Oh, Benjie, why did you not call me earlier ?"

"I did not wake myself," replied Benjamin, laughing.

"And what has become of the baby, I wonder?" groaned Stephen.

"He's asleep too, or he would be roaring," was the sagacious answer.

"And I wanted to be up early, and to try to be of use," continued Stephen, mournfully, as he hurried on his clothes. "What would Mr. Absalom think of me this morning, I wonder?"

"Why, what did he think of you last night?" asked Benjamin.

"Oh, Benjie, he was so good to me, you can't think." "Did he like you very much, as much as I like you, Toddy?"