ight her eyes wander from
the seam; and all this severe work was done in the midst of an
ear-splitting clatter, which alone would have worn out a person not
thoroughly accustomed to it.

But Sue was not unhappy. For three years now she had borne without
breaking down this tremendous strain on her health. The thought that she
was keeping Giles in the old attic made her bright and happy, and her
shrill young voice rose high and merry above those of her companions.
No; Sue, busy and honest, was not unhappy. But her fate was a far less
hard one than Giles's.

Giles had not always been lame. When first his mother held him in her
arms he was both straight and beautiful. Though born of poor parents and
in London, he possessed a health and vigor seldom bestowed upon such
children. In those days his father was alive, and earning good wages as
a fireman in the London Fire Brigade. There was a comfortable home for
both Sue and Giles, and Giles was the very light and sunshine of his
father's and mother's life. To his father he had been a special source
of pride and rejoicing. His beauty alone would have made him so. Sue was
essentially an everyday child, but Giles had a clear complexion,
dark-blue eyes, and curling hair. Giles as a baby and a little child was
very beautiful. As his poor, feeble-looking mother carried him
about--for she was poor and feeble-looking even in her palmy
days--people used to turn and gaze after the lovely boy. The mother
loved him passionately, but to the father he was as the apple of his
eye.

Giles's father had married a wife some degrees below him both
intellectually and socially. She was a hard-working, honest, and
well-meaning soul, but she was not her husband's equal. He was a man
with great force of character, great bravery, great powers of endurance.
Before he had joined the Fire Brigade he had been a sailor, and many
tales did he tell to his little Giles of his adventures on the sea. Sue
and her mother used to find these stories dull, but to Giles they seemed
as necessary as the air he breathed. He used to watch patiently for
hours for the rare moments when his father was off duty, and then beg
for the food which his keen mental appetite craved for. Mason could both
read and write, and he began to teach his little son. This state of
things continued until Giles was seven years old. Then there came a
dreadful black-letter day for the child; for the father, the end of
life.

Every event of th