p-stairs," said he,
anxiously, "I'll give you some medicine. Mother keeps it for me."

Thus, presently, the curate found himself top-floor rear, in the room
that overlooked the broad river, the roofs of the city beyond, the
misty hills: upon which the fading sunshine now fell. And having
gratefully swallowed the dose, with a broad, persistent smile, he was
given a seat by the window, that the beauty of the day, the
companionship of the tiny craft on the river, the mystery of the
far-off places, might distract and comfort him. From the boy, sitting
upright and prim on the extreme edge of a chair, his feet on the rung,
his hands on his knees, proceeded a stream of amiable chatter--not the
less amiable for being grave--to which the curate, compelled to his
best behavior, listened with attention as amiable, as grave: and this
concerned the boats, afloat below, the lights on the river, the child's
mother, the simple happenings of his secluded life. So untaught was
this courtesy, spontaneous, native--so did it spring from natural wish
and perception--that the curate was soon more mystified than
entertained; and so did the curate's smile increase in gratification
and sympathy that the child was presently off the chair, lingering half
abashed in the curate's neighbourhood, soon seated familiarly upon his
knee, toying with the dull gold crucifix.

"What's this?" he asked.

"It is the symbol," the curate answered, "of the sacrifice of our dear
Lord and Saviour."

There was no meaning in the words; but the boy held the cross very
tenderly, and looked long upon the face of the Man there in
torture--and was grieved and awed by the agony....

In the midst of this, the boy's mother entered. She stopped dead
beyond the threshold--warned by the unexpected presence to be upon her
guard. Her look of amazement changed to a scowl of suspicion. The
curate put the boy from his knee. He rose--embarrassed. There was a
space of ominous silence.

"What you doing here?" the woman demanded.

"Trespassing."

She was puzzled--by the word, the smile, the quiet voice. The whole
was a new, nonplussing experience. Her suspicion was aggravated.

"What you been telling the boy? Eh? What you been saying about me?
Hear me? Ain't you got no tongue?" She turned to the frightened
child. "Richard," she continued, her voice losing all its quality of
anger, "what lies has this man been telling you about your poor mother?"

The boy ke