e who, for the five shillings in the
pocket of his torn coat, agreed to nurse him through his trouble. If
he had the luck to live through it, the show-folk intended to have him
back. If he died--well, there was the parish ready to bury him.

Ned, on the other hand, was by no means in such evil plight. He was
still in the division of the show moving from one suburb to another, so
he had, at least, fresh air to breathe. True, he had brought on
himself one brutal thrashing by running away from the show on the first
opportunity. He was easily enough traced to the Docks, where he had
sped, hoping against hope to find Alick loitering there. Instead, he
was captured by the ring-master himself, who had been informed of the
boy's flight, and who thought it quite worth his while to look up such
an intelligent, hard-working little chap as Ned. The truth was, Ned
had made himself far too useful among the animals to be thus let slip.
All this time the dejected lad had been purposely kept in ignorance of
the whereabouts of his companion. It was only by pure accident that he
at last heard of Alick's collapse and speedy removal from the show--to
die, for what anyone cared. One of the showmen had been despatched
from the head-quarters of the establishment on an errand, and, knocking
up against Ned, exclaimed--

'Hilloa! You ain't got the fever yet, then? Your chum has distanced
you; for he's down with it.' Then the man told Ned that Alick was
lying 'as ill as ill' in the house of an old crone who once belonged to
the show herself.

It was a relief to hear even that much of his companion; it was better
than the mystery of silence. But Ned's panic was pretty severe when he
thought of Alick's perilous and deserted condition. A rush of mingled
feelings came over the Northbourne lad. He felt as the prodigal son
must have felt in the far country.

Yes, it was exactly like the Bible story which 'Miss Theedory' seemed
to like best. At least, she told it to her class-boys more often than
any other, and Ned, listening to her, had grown to realise the unhappy
youth's condition in that far-off land where he had 'wasted his
substance in riotous living,' and to sympathise cordially with him when
he 'came to himself.'

But Ned, hustled, driven, sworn at, from morning to night, could now,
in those scanty moments allowed him to swallow his rough food, or
before his tired eyes closed in sleep, still more vividly picture the
prodigal