in an easy knot, was a
penny that Denys had given him.

He had never dared to ask her again for even a ha'penny, but one
day she had given him a bright penny that shone like gold and he had
treasured it with utmost joy, more because he had not asked for it,
than for its value as a penny.

The edge of the box which held his treasures stuck out from under the
bed, and he watched it for a long time, resolving in his little mind
that one day he would manage somehow to get his own again.

The confinement of his new life irked him as much as his breeches, for
he had been used to wandering about the Landslip and the Whitecliff
beach at his own pleasure, and now there were but two rooms to wander
in, or at best a short and narrow street, beyond whose limits he was
forbidden to go, and it was filled with rough and noisy children who
pushed him and pinched him and who roared vociferously whenever they
saw him, after they discovered that his name was Lyon.

He had always made friends with all the sailors and visitors at
Whitecliff, but here the men and women hurried about their business
and never even glanced at the golden-headed little chap, and there
were no boats to be pulled up and pushed out, and no tide, and no
sands, and no--no _anything_.

Harry stood at the top of the dull street looking forlornly about him,
when he came to that conclusion, and when he realised it, he burst
into a sudden fit of heart-broken crying.

There were no loving arms now in which to sob out his woes, and he
turned his little back upon the world and covering his face with his
hands, leaned his head against a big brick wall and wept, and wept,
and wept for his mother.

"Oh, mummy--mummy--mummy--"

"Why, Harry!" said his Uncle Jim's voice, "whatever's the matter with
you? You shouldn't be crying--you're a big boy now. Have the boys been
hitting you?"

Harry did not turn or heed him.

"Oh, mummy--mummy--mummy," he wailed.

"Harry!" said Jim again, "here's a penny for you--let's go and buy
some sweeties."

But Harry was past that.

"Oh, mummy--mummy--my mummy--I want my mummy."

There was no mistaking the heart-broken cry this time, and Jim looked
helplessly at Tom Green who stood beside him.

"It's the old story," said Tom gently, "'They have taken away my Lord
and I know not where they have laid him.'" Then he stooped down to
the level of the little weeping child and drew him into his arms and
turned the tear-stained little face