ace deepened into one of pain, while Neddy
appeared even more shocked. He had, I suspect, known little of poverty,
but by hearsay; and the bare, terrible reality took him by surprise.

Bob had risen from the heap of dirty rubbish which served him for a bed.
His thin cheek glowed with a bright flush of pleasure as he recognised
his benefactor.

"Is it possible that you live here?-- sleep here?" exclaimed the
gentleman; "exposed in this wretched shed, without a fire, to all the
severity of winter?"

Bob attempted to speak, but was stopped by his cough. Billy, who was at
all times more talkative and ready to reply, answered, "Yes, we lives
here, and sleeps here too, when the cold don't keep us awake!"

"And does no one ever come to visit you?"

"No one but the rats!" replied the child.

"The rats!" exclaimed Neddy, with a gesture of horror and disgust, which
irritated my vanity not a little. Oddity had none, so he looked tranquil
as usual.

"Oh, papa!" cried Neddy, "they must not stay here; this horrible hole is
only fit for rats!"

His father was bending over Bob, feeling his wrist, asking him questions
regarding his health, with a gentle kindness which goes farther to win
confidence and affection than the cold bestowal of the greatest
benefits.

"You are not well; you must be cared for, my boy. I think that I could
manage to get you into an hospital; you would have every comfort there."

"Please, sir," began Bob, and stopped; he looked at his brother,
and then raised his earnest eyes to the face of his new friend, and
gathering courage from the kind glance which he met, faltered forth,
"Please, sir, would they take Billy too?"

The gentleman shook his head.

"Then-- please, sir, I'd a much rather stay here: we han't never been
parted, Billy and me."

I saw Neddy eagerly draw his father aside, very near to my hiding-place
behind the canvass, so that I could hear some of his words, though they
were only spoken in a whisper.

"Could we not get a lodging?-- see here!" He pulled something out of his
pocket, and spoke still lower; but I caught a sentence here and there:
"My Christmas-box, and what aunt gave me, would it be enough?" his voice
was very earnest indeed.

I saw something which reminded me of sunshine steal over the father's
face as he looked down on his blue-eyed boy. Then he replied in a quiet
tone, "Yes, enough to provide one till warmer weather comes. I would
myself see that food and needful