thought to the poor boy who had so
honorably striven to spare her the misfortune over which she lamented so
dolorously. Her Sunday thoughts strayed far more frequently to the
dingy, stained garments soaking in her back kitchen, than to Hal
Hutchings, quietly lying in Mrs. Robertson's best bedroom.

"I wonder no one comes to inquire after him. Has he no friends, Blair?"
said Mrs. Robertson as evening was drawing on.

"I dare say not, mother. I never saw him with anybody. He does errands
round town, and has been sleeping at Mrs. McKinstry's, the
washerwoman's. He didn't take his meals there, I know, for I've seen him
eating bread and cheese in some corner just when other folks were
sitting down to dinner. They call him 'Hal the English boy;' but I guess
nobody knows much about him."

"A stranger in a strange land," said Mrs. Robertson thoughtfully; and
then she rose up and went into the room where Hal was still lying.

Blair took up his Bible. How precious that Bible seemed to him now--the
light for his feet, the lamp for his path. With reverence he turned the
sacred pages until he found the fifty-first psalm, which he read with
solemn earnestness, making its humble petitions truly his own.

While Blair was thus employed, Mrs. Robertson was talking in her own
kindly way to the stranger.

"So you are an English boy, Hal," she said. "That will not keep me from
loving you, for you know the Bible says we must 'love our enemies;' but
I don't believe you are such a very dangerous enemy, after all." Her
pleasant smile was like sunshine to the heart of the lonely boy, and his
reserve melted away before it.

"I'm Hinglish, because I was born in Hingland," said the boy. "I
couldn't help that; and I couldn't blame my father and mother for it
neither, for I never knowed them. I've been an orphan always. But I'm an
American, because I chose this for my country, and I worked my passage
over here, and I haven't begged from anybody."

"I'm glad you want to be an American," said Mrs. Robertson gently; "it
is a great privilege. But there is something more to do for every boy
who wants to be an American citizen, than just landing in this country
and earning his own living, and then by and by voting for our rulers."

Hal opened his large pale blue eyes in confused expectation, and was
silent.

Mrs. Robertson was not easily discouraged, and she went on. "You would
think it very rude, Hal, if I were to invite a poor stranger to my h