ner,
learns to greet him with the one tune his little life has been spent in
learning.

The musician, having cause to go abroad, left his petted bird in charge
of his sister. On his return to this country, his first visit was to
that lady, who told him, sorrowfully, that Bully had pined himself into
a serious illness, evidently in the grief he felt at his master's
absence. The grieved owner went hastily into the room where the cage
was, and spoke gently to the ailing bird, which stood huddled up into
what looked like a ball of feathers on his perch. Instantly, at the
sound of the loved master's voice, the dim, closed eyes were opened
wide. There was a feeble flutter of the faded plumage; the drooping
head was raised. Half creeping, half staggering, the little creature
attained the outstretched finger, on which he had barely strength to
steady himself. With a supreme effort, as it seemed, he piped out
feebly, in low, half-muffled notes, 'God save the King.' And
then--Bully fell dead!

Jerry's voice had a slight choke in it as he finished his pathetic
little story. As for his old mother, she had thrown her apron over her
head, and was quietly sobbing under its shelter.

'Well, my lad,' she said, by and by, when her tears were dried, 'I've
aye said that you were the best son mother ever had, and for the same a
blessing will, no doubt, rest upon your head. And as for the bits o'
birds an' beasts well, I've heard the old passon--Mr. Vesey
himself--say, an' I never forget the words, as--

'"He prayeth best who loveth best
All men and bird and beast;"

so, to my thinkin', that's how 'tis wi' you. Ye love the mites, and ye
can do all things wi' them. That's yer secret!'

And undoubtedly Jerry's old mother was right.

CHAPTER XVI

THE SEAMY SIDE OF LIFE

It was a still, dark night when two short figures, each carrying a
bundle, stole away from Northbourne, skirting Brattlesby Woods, and
making for the old London road.

The fugitives were Alick Carnegy and Ned Dempster, and each was trying
his hardest to prevent his companion from hearing the choking sobs that
could not be kept down.

All boys, of course, secretly believe that it is a fine, manly thing to
run away to sea. From time immemorial it has sounded so well--in
fiction. Is there a boy breathing who has not pictured himself, free
as a bird on the wing, shaking off the trammels of home in this
fashion? But the grim reality was an alto