ed him home, had been
beside him for half an hour, and he had not spoken out. And now he
was gone. He felt so sick and weak that he could hardly stand.

From his sad, waking dreams he was roughly startled by the loud,
sharp voice of his mistress, who, attracted by the strong
expressions of Doctor R--, now entered the shop, exclaiming--

"What's all this? What's that little wretch been doing now, ha?"

"I wish I'd never seen him!" muttered Sharp, but in a tone that left
no doubt on the mind of his wife that something more than usually
annoying had occurred.

"What's the matter? What's he been doing? Not stealing, I hope;
though I shouldn't wonder."

"He's sick, and you've got to take care of him," was the dogged
answer of Sharp.

"Sick! He looks sick, don't he?" The tones of the virago were full
of contempt.

Any eye but hers would have seen sickness, sorrow, suffering, and
want in the pale, frightened face of the poor boy, as he stood
trembling beside the counter, and actually clinging to it for
support.

"Who was that in here, just now?" she added.

"Doctor R--, of Boston," replied the hatter, who knew the doctor by
sight very well.

"What did he want?"

"He picked Henry up in the street and took him over to the drug
store at the corner. Then he brought him home in his carriage. He
says that he must be taken care of, or he will become a cripple;
that it's the worst case of chilblains he ever saw; and that his
feet are in danger of mortification."

"I don't believe a word of it. Here I you go off up-stairs,"
speaking sharply, and with a threatening look to the child. "I'd
like to know what business he has to come here, meddling in affairs
that don't concern him."

Henry, thus spoken to, let go of the counter, by which he was
sustaining himself, and attempted to move toward the door. As he did
so, his face grew deadly pale. He staggered across the shop, fell
against the wall, and then sank down upon the floor. Mrs. Sharp
sprang toward him, not with any humane intention, we are sorry to
say; but, ere she had grasped the boy's arm, and given him the
purposed jerk, the sight of his ashen, lifeless face prevented the
outrage. Exhausted nature could bear nothing more, and protected
herself in a temporary suspension of her power. Henry had fainted,
and it was well that it was so. The fact was a stronger argument in
his favor than any external exhibition of suffering that could have
been given.

The hatter