uriosity. There was a rough though not unclean
bed running down one side. Beyond, at the stern, so to speak, was a
kind of galley containing cooking stove, kettle and pot. There were
shelves, some filled with stock-in-trade, others with miscellaneous
things, the nature of which he could not distinguish in the gloom.
Barney Bill presently turned and dumped an armful of books on the
footboard an inch or two below Paul's nose. Paul scanned the title
pages. They were: Goldsmith's "Animated Nature," "Enquire Within Upon
Everything," an old bound volume of "Cassell's Family Reader," "The
Remains of Henry Kirke White," and "Martin Chuzzlewit." The owner
looked down upon them proudly.

"I've got some more, but I can't get at 'em."

Paul regarded him with envy. This was a man of great possessions. "How
long are yo' going to stay here?" he asked hopefully.

"Till sunrise to-morrow."

Paul's face fell. He seemed to have no luck nowadays.

Barney Bill let himself down to a sitting position on the footboard and
reached to the end for a huge pork pie and a clasp knife which lay
beside a tin can. "I'll go on with my supper," said he; then noticing a
wistful, hungry look in the child's eyes, "Have a bit?" he asked.

He cut off a mighty hunk and put it into Paul's ready hand. Paul
perched himself beside him, and they both ate for a long while in
silence, dangling their legs. Now and again the host passed the tin of
tea to wash down the food. The flaming dragon died into a smoky red
above the town. A light or two already appeared in the fringe of mean
houses. Twilight fell rapidly.

"Oughtn't you to be getting home?"

Paul, his hunger appeased, grinned. His idea was to sneak into the
scullery just after the public-houses closed, when his mother would be
far too much occupied with Mr. Button to worry about him. Chastisement
would then be postponed till the morning. Artlessly he laid the
situation before his friend, who led him on to relate other amenities
of his domestic life.

"Well, I'm jiggered!" said Barney Bill. "She must be a she-devil!"

Paul cordially agreed. He had already imagined the Prince of Darkness
in the guise of Mr. Button; Mrs. Button was in every way fit to be the
latter's diabolical mate. Encouraged by sympathy and shrewd questions,
he sketched in broad detail his short career, glorifying himself as the
prize scholar and the erstwhile Grand Llama of Budge Street, and
drawing a dismal picture of the factory.