sed to
Nurse."

"Yes, Father," said Helen

"Oh, Father, mayn't he come to-night?" said Mary.

"No, Mary, I'm afraid not."

A tear rolled down her cheek. "It won't be any fun without Jeremy," she
said. She wished to make the further sacrifice of saying that she would
not go unless Jeremy did, but some natural caution restrained her.

Mr. Cole, his face heavy with sorrow, departed. At the dumb misery of
Jeremy's face the Jampot's hear--in reality a kind and even sentimental
heart--repented her.

"There, Master Jeremy, you be a good boy all day, and I dare say your
father will take you, after all; and we won't think no more about what
you said to me in the 'eat of the moment."

But Jeremy answered nothing; nor did he respond to the smell of bacon,
nor the advances of Hamlet, nor the flood of sunlight that poured into
the room from the frosty world outside.

A complete catastrophe. They none of them had wanted to see this thing
with the urgent excitement that he had felt. They had not dreamt of it
for days and nights and nights and days, as he had done. Their whole
future existence did not depend upon their witnessing this, as did his.

During that morning he was a desperate creature, like something caged
and tortured. Do happy middle-aged philosophers assure us that children
are light-hearted and unfeeling animals? Let them realise something of
the agony which Jeremy suffered that day. His whole world had gone.

He was wicked, an outcast; his word could never be trusted again; he
would be pointed at, as the boy who had told a lie... And he would not
meet Dick Whittington.

The eternity of his punishment hung around his neck like an iron chain.
Childhood's tragedies are terrible tragedies, because a child has no
sense of time; a moment's dismay is eternal; a careless word from an
elder is a lasting judgment; an instant's folly is a lifetime's mistake.

The day dragged its weary length along, and he scarcely moved from his
corner by the fire. He did not attempt conversation with anyone. Once or
twice the Jampot tried to penetrate behind that little mask of anger and
dismay.

"Come, now, things aren't so bad as all that. You be a good boy, and
go and tell your father you're sorry..." or "Well, then, Master Jeremy,
there'll be another time, I dare say, you can go to the the-ayter..."

But she found no response. If there was one thing that she hated, it was
sulks. Here they were, sulks of the worst--and so, lik