re that big old house where we two had lived as children, where I
had played so contentedly second fiddle to Willy. Willy, who was so
eager to act the leading part, so determined to enjoy, to do, to
conquer; Willy

"Whose part in all the pomp that fills
The circuit of the summer hills
Is that his grave is green!"

I stepped into the narrow passage between the two houses, and looking
up, saw that the present neighbours, friendlily inclined, had slung a
rope across from window to window, upon which towels hung to dry. I
could see only the projecting ledge of the window through which our
little faces used to peep and the projecting ledge of that upon which
the kitten had shivered and mewed. But I looked long at these, and at
the tiny slip of blue sky above, and then came home and wrote this
story.

A BROKEN BOOT

"Oh, the insufferable eyes of these poor might-have-beens."

Every morning of the spring and early summer he had walked down that
sun- and shadow-flecked suburban road, and rested on that particular
iron chair. The butcher's and fishmonger's boys going their rounds, the
policeman on his beat, the postman wearily footing it, the daily
governess returning from her morning's occupation, had become used to
his appearance there; and he watched each one going upon his or her
business, wistful-eyed.

To-day, on one of the chairs planted by the thoughtfulness of the
ever-solicitous Town Council at intervals along the road, a tramp had
also placed himself. He was a tramp of a dirty and unprepossessing
appearance, and having cast a sidelong glance at the well-dressed,
handsome, and distinguished-looking young man beside him, he had begun
in hoarse, faint tones to beg of him. The voice was evidently that of a
hungry man; but to the appeal no response was made, unless there was
reply of a sort in a painfully crimsoning cheek and an averted gaze.
The tramp pointed to his feet, the ragged boots grey with dust of weary
miles, the naked toe peeping through. The gentleman faintly shook the
head that he continued to hold aside. With an effort the tramp got upon
his feet.

"D--n you!" he said. "May your belly go as empty as mine. May hell-fire
blister your feet as mine are blistered!"

The man left alone upon the iron bench looked after the tramp shuffling
painfully away, with no anger or condemnation in his eyes, only a
submissive sadness.

"Poor devil!" he said. "Poor devil! What a beast I must