ys, who hovered
about.

"He's a leetle lively!" said Joe, proudly. "Keep clear of his heels,
boys."

Jack subsided, but eyed a pile of boxes in a court on the left.

"What ails ye, Jack?"

"It's the hermit ails him!" cried one, pointing toward a huge box from
one side of which somebody's head and shoulders protruded.

"Quit scaring my horse!" cried Joe.

The face was startlingly pale, and the eyes had a troubled, eager
look--the look of anxious care; but Joe knew their owner was a boy,
although he quickly disappeared in the box. Mr. Somerby resumed his
lunch, but kept the reins in case Jack should be startled when the boy
came out. But he did not appear; there was no sign of life in the box.
Joe thought he was either up to some more mischief or afraid; the
latter seemed most likely, as he recalled the white, still face.

Joe got down from his cart and quietly peeped in. He was somewhat
astonished at first, for the boy was on his knees. The sight stirred
his sympathies strangely. The pallid lips were moving; soon, low words
came forth:

"I don't know how to speak to you, dear Lord; but please help me.
Mother prayed to you, and you helped her. Oh! help me, I pray, for
Jesus' sake. Amen."

The listener drew back to brush the tears from his eyes.

"'Minds me o' Parson Willoughby's sermon--'Help, Lord, or I perish!' I
wish my wife was here. I declare I do. The little chap must be in
trouble!"

Joe peeped in again. The boy did not see him as he was partly turned
from the opening. He threaded a rusty needle, and proceeded to patch
his coat. Joe could see the anxious puckers in his face as he bent over
the task.

"I do wish she was here!" Joe cried, aloud.

The boy turned quickly.

"Why don't you go home, lad? You'll freeze to death here."

"This is my home."

"Sho! Do you mean to say you _live_ here?"

"Yes." The lad hesitated, then asked, "Are you from the country, sir?"

"Wal, yes, I be. Though folks don't generally mistrust it when I'm
slicked up. But I don't stand no quizzing."

The boy appeared surprised at this sudden outburst, and said, with a
frank, manly air that appeased Joe:

"I thought if you lived a long way off I wouldn't mind answering your
questions. I'm English, and my name's John Harper. I don't mix with the
street boys, so they call me the hermit!"

"Don't you 'mix' with your own folks, neither!"

"They were lost at sea in our passage to this country," was the low
reply. "Somet