er ill that he was not
somebody else--'you might as well be a toasting-fork or a frying-pan,
Pinch, for any help you can render me.'

'Except in the inclination,' said Tom, gently.

'Oh! to be sure. I meant that, of course. If inclination went for
anything, I shouldn't want help. I tell you what you may do, though, if
you will, and at the present moment too.'

'What is that?' demanded Tom.

'Read to me.'

'I shall be delighted,' cried Tom, catching up the candle with
enthusiasm. 'Excuse my leaving you in the dark a moment, and I'll fetch
a book directly. What will you like? Shakespeare?'

'Aye!' replied his friend, yawning and stretching himself. 'He'll do. I
am tired with the bustle of to-day, and the novelty of everything about
me; and in such a case, there's no greater luxury in the world, I think,
than being read to sleep. You won't mind my going to sleep, if I can?'

'Not at all!' cried Tom.

'Then begin as soon as you like. You needn't leave off when you see
me getting drowsy (unless you feel tired), for it's pleasant to wake
gradually to the sounds again. Did you ever try that?'

'No, I never tried that,' said Tom

'Well! You can, you know, one of these days when we're both in the right
humour. Don't mind leaving me in the dark. Look sharp!'

Mr Pinch lost no time in moving away; and in a minute or two returned
with one of the precious volumes from the shelf beside his bed. Martin
had in the meantime made himself as comfortable as circumstances would
permit, by constructing before the fire a temporary sofa of three chairs
with Mercy's stool for a pillow, and lying down at full-length upon it.

'Don't be too loud, please,' he said to Pinch.

'No, no,' said Tom.

'You're sure you're not cold'

'Not at all!' cried Tom.

'I am quite ready, then.'

Mr Pinch accordingly, after turning over the leaves of his book with as
much care as if they were living and highly cherished creatures, made
his own selection, and began to read. Before he had completed fifty
lines his friend was snoring.

'Poor fellow!' said Tom, softly, as he stretched out his head to peep
at him over the backs of the chairs. 'He is very young to have so much
trouble. How trustful and generous in him to bestow all this confidence
in me. And that was she, was it?'

But suddenly remembering their compact, he took up the poem at the place
where he had left off, and went on reading; always forgetting to snuff
the candle, until its wi