?" whispered Jerry.

"Yes," said Ben, in the same low tone.

"I wouldn't ask for nothin' better," said Jerry.

Ben was not so sure about that; but then he had not slept out hundreds
of nights, like Jerry, in old wagons, or on door-steps, or wherever else
he could; so he had a different standard of comparison.

He could not immediately go to sleep. He was tired, it was true, but his
mind was busy. It was only twelve hours since he had landed in the city,
but it had been an eventful twelve hours. He understood his position a
little better now, and how much he had undertaken, in boldly leaving
home at ten years of age, and taking upon himself the task of earning
his living.

If he had known what was before him, would he have left home at all?

Ben was not sure about this. He did own to himself, however, that he was
disappointed. The city had not proved the paradise he had expected.
Instead of finding shopkeepers eager to secure his services, he had
found himself uniformly rejected. He began to suspect that it was rather
early to begin the world at ten years of age. Then again, though he was
angry with his father, he had no cause of complaint against his mother.
She had been uniformly kind and gentle, and he found it hard to keep
back the tears when he thought how she would be distressed at his
running away. He had not thought of that in the heat of his first anger,
but he thought of it now. How would she feel if she knew where he was at
this moment, resting on a cotton-bale, on a city wharf, penniless and
without a friend in the great city, except the ragged boy who was
already asleep at his side? She would feel badly, Ben knew that, and he
half regretted having been so precipitate in his action. He could remedy
it all, and relieve his mother's heart by going back. But here Ben's
pride came in. To go back would be to acknowledge himself wrong; it
would be a virtual confession of failure, and, moreover, knowing his
father's sternness, he knew that he would be severely punished.
Unfortunately for Ben, his father had a stern, unforgiving disposition,
that never made allowances for the impulses of boyhood. He had never
condescended to study his own son, and the method of training he had
adopted with him was in some respects very pernicious. His system
hardened, instead of softening, and prejudiced Ben against what was
right, maddening him with a sense of injustice, and so preventing his
being influenced towards good. Of