God expects me to do something more than
that. He helps those who help themselves. I am going to do something!"
exclaimed he, springing to his feet. "MAKE OR BREAK, I'm going to do my
duty; I'm going to do my whole duty."

"What are you going to do, Leo?"

"I don't know yet; but, make or break, I'm going to do something. It's
no use for me to work for Mr. Checkynshaw at five dollars a week, when
it will cost us fifteen dollars a week to get along. I'm going to do
something," continued Leo, as he took a lamp from the shelf and lighted
it.

Then he stopped before Maggie, and looked her full in the face, his
eyes lighting up with unusual lustre.

"Why, what's the matter, Leo? What makes you look at me so?"

"Maggie, Andre is not our own father; but he has done all that an own
father could do for us. Maggie, let me take your hand."

She gave him her hand, and was awed by the impressive earnestness of
his manner.

"Maggie, I'm going to do my duty now. I want to promise you that poor
father shall never want for anything. I want to promise you that I will
do all for him that a real son could do."

"Good, kind Leo! We will both do our whole duty."

Leo dropped her hand, and went down stairs into his workshop. The white
mice were capering and gamboling about their palatial abodes, all
unconscious that poor Andre had been stricken down. Leo gave them their
suppers, and sat down on the work-bench. He was in deep thought, and
remained immovable for a long time.

He was a natural mechanic. His head was full of mechanical ideas. Was
there not some useful article which he could make and sell--a
boot-jack, a work-box, a writing-desk--something new and novel? He had
half a dozen such things in his mind, and he was thinking which one it
would pay best to mature. His thought excited him, and he twisted about
on the bench, knocking a chisel on the floor. The noise frightened the
mice, and they made a stampede to their nests. He looked up at them.

"That's an idea!" exclaimed he, leaping off the bench. "Make or break,
I'll put it through!"

CHAPTER IX.

MR. CHECKYNSHAW AND FAMILY.

We left Mr. Checkynshaw entering the house of Mrs. Wittleworth, in
Atkinson Street; and, as he was a gentleman of eminent dignity and
gravity, we feel compelled to beg his pardon for leaving him so long
out in the cold of a winter night. Having made the barber as
comfortable as the circumstances would permit, we are entirely willing
to