Adams, is to get
that boy some breeches. _I'm_ not going to wash a lot of petticoats."
She stooped and lifted Harry's frock--the little black frock that
Nellie had prepared weeks ago, ready for this very time, knowing that
there would be no one to buy mourning for her child.

Jane examined the petticoats, and her face relaxed a little.

"Humph!" she said, "they're not such bad petticoats! They'll do for
baby finely. You can sell the frock, if you like, Jim Adams, _that's_
no good to me, and it will help towards the breeches."

"Indeed I won't," answered Jim fiercely, "if I part with the frock,
I'll _give_ it away. Who made your pretty frock, Harry, boy?"

Harry looked down at himself proudly.

"My mother made that," he said, "that's my bestest frock. She made it
ages ago, but she wouldn't never let me wear it."

Jim's eyes filled and he turned hastily to the window that Jane might
not perceive it.

"Don't you part with that frock, Jane," he said.

Jane snorted.

"Tea's ready!" she said ungraciously.

The meal was about half through when she started a new subject.

"Where's the brat's bed?" said she.

"His bed?" repeated Jim, helplessly.

"His bed," she reiterated, "I suppose you thought he'd share the
baby's cradle!"

Jim kept what he had thought to himself.

"You must go and get one somewhere," decreed his wife.

Jim rose obediently and went downstairs. In about half an hour he
returned with his arms full of irons, blankets and bedding.

"Here, Harry, boy," he said, "uncle's got a jolly little bed for you!"

"Where did you get that?" demanded Jane.

CHAPTER XV.

THE LAST HOPE.

Little Harry Lyon found the circumstances of his fresh life so
entirely different from his old existence, that he seemed a greater
stranger to himself than the most strange of those who peopled his new
world.

To begin with, he was, to use his aunt's own term, "breeched" the
next day, and his petticoats became the big baby's property, while
his precious best frock was poked unceremoniously into a box under his
aunt's bed.

He looked after it with longing eyes. He had waited so long to wear it
and it seemed too bad to have it taken away when he had only worn it
so few times, and it was made with a pocket, the first he had ever
had. As he saw the box slammed down, he remembered with a pang that in
the pocket was his little bestest white handkerchief with lace on it
and in the corner of the handkerchief, tied