life long he
was very tender to people who were tempted in their times of trouble,
and yielded, as he was saved from doing, by what seemed an accident.

Some days after his attempt at the doctor's, as he was grubbing in a
newly-deposited ash-heap, with the bitter feeling very bad, and the
trouble very heavy, he found a dirty old pocket-book, and put it in his
bosom without stopping to examine it; for many boys and girls were
scratching, like a brood of chickens, all round him, and the pickings
were unusually good, so no time must be lost. 'Findings is havings' was
one of the laws of the ash-heap haunters; and no one thought of
disputing another's right to the spoons and knives that occasionally
found their way into the ash-barrels; while bottles, old shoes, rags,
and paper, were regular articles of traffic among them. Jack got a good
basketful that day; and when the hurry was over sat down to rest and
clear the dirt off his face with an old silk duster which he had picked
out of the rubbish, thinking Mrs. Quinn might wash it up for a
handkerchief. But he didn't wipe his dirty face that day; for, with the
rag, out tumbled a pocket-book; and on opening it he saw--money. Yes; a
roll of bills with two figures on all of them,--three tens and one
twenty. It took his breath away for a minute; then he hugged the old
book tight in both his grimy hands, and rocked to and fro all in a heap
among the oyster-shells and rusty tin kettles, saying to himself, with
tears running down his cheeks, 'O Nanny! O Nanny! now I can do it!'

I don't think a basket of cinders ever travelled at such a rate before
as Mrs. Quinn's did that day; for Jack tore home at a great pace, and
burst into the room, waving the old duster, and shouting, 'Hooray! I've
got it! I've got it!'

It is no wonder Mrs. Quinn thought he had lost his wits; for he looked
like a wild boy, with his face all streaked with tears and red ashes,
as he danced a double-shuffle till he was breathless, then showered the
money into Nanny's lap, and hugged her with another 'Hooray!' which
ended in a choke. When they got him quiet and heard the story, Mrs.
Quinn rather damped his joy, by telling him the money wasn't his, and he
ought to advertise it.

'But I want it for Nanny!' cried Jack; 'and how can I ever find who owns
it, when there was ever so many barrels emptied in that heap, and no one
knows where they came from?'

'It's very like you won't find the owner, and you can do