see if it were not his
mother, or that he would pause and listen, when back in the house,
to hear if the strange voice that came suddenly from the shop, were
not the voice of her he so longed to see. She came not; nor was any
word from her brought to him.

And thus passed the whole of the severe month of January, the long
and cold winter adding greatly to his other causes of suffering.

CHAPTER VIII.

HENRY GASTON'S TREATMENT BY SHARP.

A BOY of more robust constitution and fuller of blood than Henry
Gaston, with that activity which a fine flow of animal spirits and a
high degree of health give, would have cared little for the exposure
to which he was subjected at Sharp's, even if clad no more
comfortably. But Henry had little of that healthy warmth natural to
the young. He was constitutionally delicate, and this caused him to
feel more keenly the chilling intensity of the cold to which he was
frequently exposed without sufficient clothing. His whole dress,
intended to protect him from the cold of a remarkably severe and
trying winter, was a thin shirt, the remains of one worn for nearly
a year; the jacket and trowsers, thin and threadbare, that Mrs.
Sharp had made for him out of some worn-out garment which her
husband had thrown aside, and which were now rent in many places; a
pair of dilapidated yarn stockings, with feet like a honey-comb. His
shoes, the pair given him by his mother, had been half-soled once,
but were again so far gone that his stockings protruded in several
places, and yet neither his master nor mistress seemed to take any
notice of their condition, and he was afraid to ask for a new pair.
When it rained or snowed, or, worse, when it rained with or after
the snow, as it had done several times within a week, his shoe were
but a poor protection for his feet. The snow and water went through
them as through a sieve.

Before the first of February, the poor boy was almost crippled with
the chilblains. Through the day, he hobbled about as best he could,
often in great pain; and at night the tender skin of his feet,
irritated by the warmth of the bed, would keep him awake for hours
with a most intolerable burning and itching.

"Why don't you walk straight? What do you go shuffling along in that
kind of style for?" said Sharp to him one day, toward the last of
January.

"My feet are so sore," replied Henry, with a look of suffering,
blended with patient endurance.

"What's the matter with