the fire, my boy," he said, with as
near an approach to heartiness as he was capable of. "It's Christmas
time, and Christmas only comes once a year."

He rubbed his palms together, then began to twist the corners of his
handkerchief.

"Well, Julian," he went on, leaning feebly forward to the fire, "a year
more school, I suppose, and then--business; what?"

"Yes, uncle."

The boy spoke cheerfully, but yet not in the same natural way as before.

"I wish I could afford to make you something better, my lad; you ought
to be something better by rights. And I don't well know what you'll
find to do in this little shop. The business might be better; yes,
might be better. You won't have much practice in dispensing, I'm
afraid, unless things improve. It is mostly hair-oil,--and the patent
medicines. It's a poor look-out for you, Julian."

There was a silence.

"Harriet isn't quite well yet, is she?" Smales went on, half to himself.

"No, she looked poorly to-night."

"Julian," began the other, but paused, rubbing his hands more nervously
than ever.

"Yes, uncle?"

"I wonder what 'ud become of her if I--if I died now? You're growing
up, and you're a clever lad; you'll soon be able to shift for yourself.
But what'll Harriet do? If only she had her health. And I shall have
nothing to leave either her or you, Julian,--nothing,--nothing! She'll
have to get her living somehow. I must think of some easy business for
her, I must. She might be a teacher, but her head isn't strong enough,
I fear. Julian--"

"Yes, uncle?"

"You--you are old enough to understand things, my boy," went on his
uncle, with quavering voice. "Suppose, after I'm dead and gone, Harriet
should want help. She won't make many friends, I fear, and she'll have
bad health. Suppose she was in want of any kind,--you'd stand by her,
Julian, wouldn't you? You'd be a friend to her,--always?"

"Indeed I would, uncle!" exclaimed the boy stoutly.

"You promise me that, Julian, this Christmas night?--you promise it?"

"Yes, I promise, uncle. You've always been kind and good to me, and see
if I'm not the same to Harriet."

His voice trembled with generous emotion.

"No, I sha'n't see it, my boy," said Smales, shaking his head drearily;
"but the promise will be a comfort to me at the end, a comfort to me.
You're a good lad, Julian!"

Silence came upon them again.

In the same district, in one of a row of semi-detached houses standing
in gardens, lived Ida's