yes. I never take a boy without having him bound."

"What was his mother's name?"

"I believe they called her Mrs. Miller."

"Did you ever meet with her?"

"No: but my wife knew her very well. She was a strange kind of
woman--feeling something above her condition, I should think. She
was always low-spirited, my wife says, but never complained about
any thing. Bill was her only child, and he used to go for her work,
and carry it home when it was finished. She sent him out, too, to
buy every thing. I don't believe she would have stirred beyond her
own door if she had starved to death."

"Why not?"

"Pride, I reckon."

"Pride? Why should she be proud?"

"Dear knows! Maybe she once belonged to the bettermost class of
people, and was afraid of meeting some of them in the street."

This brief conversation awoke an interest in my mind for the lad. As
I left the shop, I met him at the door with a large bucket of water
in his hand--too heavy for his strength. I looked at him more
narrowly than I had ever done before. There was a feminine delicacy
about every feature of his face, unusual in boys who ordinarily
belong to the station he was filling. His eyes, too, had a softer
expression, and his brow was broader and fairer. The intentness with
which I looked at him, caused him to look at me as intently. What
thoughts were awakened in his mind I could not tell. I put my hand
upon his head, involuntarily; but did not speak to him; and then
passed on. I could not help turning to take another glance at the
boy. He had turned also. I saw that there were tears in his eyes.

"Poor fellow!" I murmured, "he is out of his place." I did, not go
back to speak to him, as I wished afterward that I had done, but
kept on my way.

Not having occasion to visit the shoemaker's wife again for some
months, this boy did not, during the time, fall under my notice. It
was midwinter when I next saw him.

I was preparing to go out one stormy morning in February, when a lad
came into my office. He was drenched to the skin by the rain, that
was driving fiercely along under the pressure of a strong
northeaster, and shivering with cold. His teeth chattered so that it
was some time before he could make known his errand. I noticed that
he was clad in a much worn suit of common corduroy, the cracks in
which, here and there, showed the red skin beneath, and proved
clearly enough that this was all that protected him from the bitter
cold. One of his