nxious about his books to sleep, but I found that he was
keeping awake, and after a bit he said to me, "What are you staring so
hard and so quietly at, little Mouse?"

I looked at the back of the book, and it was called _Religious Orders_;
so I said, "It's called _Religious Orders_, but the picture I'm looking
at has got two men dressed in black, with their faces covered all but
their eyes, and they are carrying another man with something blue over
him."

"_Fratelli della Misericordia_," said Godfather Gilpin.

"Who are they, and what are they doing?" I asked. "And why are their
faces covered?"

"They belong to a body of men," was Godfather Gilpin's reply, "who bind
themselves to be ready in their turn to do certain offices of mercy,
pity, and compassion to the sick, the dying, and the dead. The
brotherhood is six hundred years old, and still exists. The men who
belong to it receive no pay, and they equally reject the reward of
public praise, for they work with covered faces, and are not known even
to each other. Rich men and poor men, noble men and working men, men of
letters and the ignorant, all belong to it, and each takes his turn when
it comes round to nurse the sick, carry the dying to hospital, and bury
the dead.'

"Is that a dead man under the blue coverlet?" I asked with awe.

"I suppose so," said Godfather Gilpin.

"But why don't his friends go to the funeral?" I inquired.

"He has no friends to follow him," said my godfather. "That is why he is
being buried by the Brothers of Pity."

Long after Godfather Gilpin had told me all that he could tell me of the
_Fratelli della Misericordia_--long after I had put the congregation
(including the _Religious Orders_ and Taylor's _Sermons_) back into the
shelf to which they belonged--the masked faces and solemn garb of the
men in the picture haunted me.

I have changed my mind a great many times, since I can remember, about
what I will be when I am grown up. Sometimes I have thought I should
like to be an officer and die in battle; sometimes I settled to be a
clergyman and preach splendid sermons to enormous congregations; once I
quite decided to be a head fireman and wear a brass helmet, and be
whirled down lighted streets at night, every one making way for me, on
errands of life and death.

But the history of the Brothers of Pity put me out of conceit with all
other heroes. It seemed better than anything I had ever thought of--to
do good works unseen of