e natural enemy of the race--the Bobby--it was only
right to exhibit as much of the article as was compatible with safety.
Indeed, the inventor of a fresh sarcasm, biting in its nature yet
artfully shrouded in language which might be safely addressed to an arm
of the law was considered by his fellows in the light of a public
benefactor. The errand-boy also, who, because he carried a parcel or
basket and happened to wear shoes, thought himself at liberty to cast
obloquy on those whose profession was of a more desultory nature, and
whose clothing was scantier--he must be held in check and his pride
lowered by sarcasms yet more biting and far less veiled. These things
were right and proper, but Wikkey felt uncomfortable under an imputation
of "cheekiness" from the "big chap" who had so taken his fancy, and
wondered at his own feeling. That evening, as Lawrence walked briskly
homeward, after his day's work, he became aware of the pale, wizen face
again looking up into his through the dusk, and of a shrill voice at his
side.

"I say, guvner, you hadn't no call fur to call me cheeky; I didn't mean
no cheek, only I likes the look of yer; it seems fur to warm a chap."

Lawrence stopped this time and looked curiously at the boy, at the odd,
keen eyes gazing at him so hungrily.

"You are a strange lad if you are not a cheeky one," he said. "Why do
you like the look of me?"

"I dunno," said Wikkey, and then he repeated his formula, "it seems to
warm a chap."

"You must be precious cold if that will do it, poor little lad. What's
your name?"

"Wikkey."

"Wikkey? Is that all?"

"No, I've another name about me somewheres, but I can't just mind of it.
They allus calls me Wikkey."

"Poor lad!" Lawrence said again, looking at the thin skeleton frame,
sadly visible through the tattered clothing. "Poor little chap! it's
sharp weather for such a mite as you. There! get something to warm you."
And feeling in his pocket he drew out half-a-crown, which he slipped
into Wikkey's hand, and then turned and walked away. Wikkey stood
looking after him with two big tears rolling down his dirty face; it
was so long since any one had called him a poor little chap, and he
repeated the words over and over as he threaded his way in the darkness
to the dreary lodging usually called "Skimmidges," and kept by a grim
woman of that name.

"It seems fur to warm a chap," he said again, as he crept under the
wretched blanket which Mrs. Skimmidge de