ut Chippy--poor
Chippy!--had seen an ideal in his rough, hard life, and he clung to it.

'Yer see,' he began once more, 'I'm a boy scout----'

The fishmonger was bubbling mad all the time; now he completely boiled
over.

'There he goes again!' yelled Mr. Blades. 'If he's a boy scout, let
him clear out o' this, and scout round for another job. Now, then,
shift, and look sharp about it.'

But Chippy was unwilling to go. He was searching his mind for words
with which to plead, and to promise to do his utmost for them, save for
the breaking of his scout's oath, when the furious fishmonger sprang
upon him, tore the bag he still held from his grasp, and literally
threw him out of the shop. Taken by surprise, Chippy was pitched
headlong, and went sprawling along the pavement. He picked himself up
without a word, and went away down the street. His job had gone, and
he knew it, and he stayed not another moment for vain pleading.

'Just hark at him!' cried the fuming Mr. Blades; 'the impident young
dog! Got the sack, and goes off whistling!'

'Well, I'm blest!' said Larry, and nodded his head thoughtfully. 'I
thought he was dead keen on his job. But he don't care a rap about it.
He was only a-kiddin' us. Whistling like a lark!'

Poor Chippy! how sorely was he misjudged! The fishmonger and his son
knew nothing of Scout Law 8: 'A scout smiles and whistles under all
circumstances,' and 'under any annoying circumstances you should force
yourself to smile at once, and then whistle a tune, and you will be all
right.'

Chippy turned a corner, and his whistling died away. Soon it stopped.
His mouth worked a little, and his lips would not quite come into shape
for the merry notes. Scout Law 8 was splendid advice, but this was a
very stiff thing, even for No. 8. Chippy could not whistle, but he
hoped very much that he still wore the smile. Well, his face was
twisted, true, and the twists had the general shape of a smile, but it
was a smile to wring the heart.

When he got home, he found his mother bending over the wash-tub. She
looked up in surprise and then alarm: his face betrayed him.

'What's the matter?' she cried. 'What brings you back at this time?'

'I've got the sack,' said Chippy briefly.

The poor pinched-face woman cried out in dismay.

'An' your father's only done four days this last fortni't!' she wailed.
Chippy's father was a dock-side labourer, and work had been very slack
of late.

'It's