ly to give up drink,
_not_ so much on the ground that it will surely lead you to destruction
as on the consideration that it grieves the loving Father who has
bestowed on you the very powers of enjoyment which you are now
prostituting, and who is at this moment holding out His hands to you and
_waiting_ to be gracious."

The old man stopped abruptly, and Shank stood with eyes fixed on the
floor and frowning brow.

"Have you anything more to say to me?" asked Mr Crossley.

"Nothing."

"Then good-morning. As I can do nothing else to serve you, I will pray
for you."

Shank found himself in the street with feelings of surprise strong upon
him.

"Pray for me!" he muttered, as he walked slowly along. "It never
occurred to me before that he prayed at all! The old humbug has more
need to pray for himself!"

CHAPTER NINE.

SHANK REVEALS SOMETHING MORE OF HIS CHARACTER.

Taking his way to the railway station Shank Leather found himself ere
long at his mother's door.

He entered without knocking.

"Shank!" exclaimed Mrs Leather and May in the same breath.

"Ay, mother, it's me. A bad shilling, they say, always turns up. _I_
always turn up, therefore _I_ am a bad shilling! Sound logic that, eh,
May?"

"I'm glad to see you, dear Shank," said careworn Mrs Leather, laying
her knitting-needles on the table; "you _know_ I'm always glad to see
you, but I'm naturally surprised, for this visit is out of your regular
time."

"Has anything happened?" asked May anxiously. And May looked very
sweet, almost pretty, when she was anxious. A year had refined her
features, developed her mind and body, and almost converted her into a
little woman. Indeed, mentally, she had become more of a woman than
many girls in her neighbourhood who were much older. This was in all
likelihood one of the good consequences of adversity.

"Ay, May, something has happened," answered the youth, flinging himself
gaily into an arm-chair and stretching out his legs towards the fire; "I
have thrown up my situation. Struck work. That's all."

"Shank!"

"Just so. Don't look so horrified, mother; you've no occasion to, for I
have the offer of a better situation. Besides--ha! ha! old Crossley--
close-fisted, crabbed, money-making, skin-flint old Crossley--is going
to pray for me. Think o' that, mother--going to pray for me!"

"Shank, dear boy," returned his mother, "don't jest about religious
things."

"You don't call old Crossle