ments of a broken jug.

Alban Morris looked at her with his grimly humorous smile. "So you've
broken a jug?" he remarked.

"And spilt father's beer," the child answered. Her frail little body
shook with terror. "Mother'll beat me when I go home," she said.

"What does mother do when you bring the jug back safe and sound?" Alban
asked.

"Gives me bren-butter."

"Very well. Now listen to me. Mother shall give you bread and butter
again this time."

The child stared at him with the tears suspended in her eyes. He went on
talking to her as seriously as ever.

"You understand what I have just said to you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Have you got a pocket-handkerchief?"

"No, sir."

"Then dry your eyes with mine."

He tossed his handkerchief to her with one hand, and picked up a
fragment of the broken jug with the other. "This will do for a pattern,"
he said to himself. The child stared at the handkerchief--stared at
Alban--took courage--and rubbed vigorously at her eyes. The instinct,
which is worth all the reason that ever pretended to enlighten
mankind--the instinct that never deceives--told this little ignorant
creature that she had found a friend. She returned the handkerchief in
grave silence. Alban took her up in his arms.

"Your eyes are dry, and your face is fit to be seen," he said. "Will you
give me a kiss?" The child gave him a resolute kiss, with a smack in
it. "Now come and get another jug," he said, as he put her down. Her red
round eyes opened wide in alarm. "Have you got money enough?" she asked.
Alban slapped his pocket. "Yes, I have," he answered. "That's a good
thing," said the child; "come along."

They went together hand in hand to the village, and bought the new jug,
and had it filled at the beer-shop. The thirsty father was at the upper
end of the fields, where they were making a drain. Alban carried the jug
until they were within sight of the laborer. "You haven't far to go," he
said. "Mind you don't drop it again--What's the matter now?"

"I'm frightened."

"Why?"

"Oh, give me the jug."

She almost snatched it out of his hand. If she let the precious minutes
slip away, there might be another beating in store for her at the drain:
her father was not of an indulgent disposition when his children were
late in bringing his beer. On the point of hurrying away, without a
word of farewell, she remembered the laws of politeness as taught at
the infant school--and dropped her little curtsey--and