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ther was again seated at the little how to hold his tongue in the right
work-table, busily engaged in the de- place.
sign of a Berlin-wool

man,
with

square It is very odd he has no respectfeatures.

able friends to help him if he is so "How does that happen? I fancy poor," continued the Aunt; “I never he is something of a miser.'

trust these wonderful stories of “No, indeed, aunt,” said Dillon, poverty and starvation." dejectedly, “Doctor Ryder says he is “I think Mr. Stutzer is ashamed to sinking from positive starvation.” let people know how poor he is,” re

“Well, it is not the first time misers plied Dillon. “Doctor Ryder told me have starved themselves. I have read not to let him find out that we of many cases of the kind. There thought he had no food or money.” was old Dan Ripton, who lived for “What good would that do him ?" years like a beggar, and in the end inquired the lady, taking a fresh needied worth several thousand pounds.” dleful of wool, for she was now shad

Dillon silently hoped this notioning an angular arm. about misers would go out of his I suppose Doctor Ryder thought Aunt's head; he thereupon waited he would feel so much ashamed." some minutes before renewing the “How ridiculous! As if a man conversation. The old gentleman could expect to die of starvation asleep before the fire continued snor- without people finding it out. It ing in different keys and tones all the would save a great deal of trouble if while; once starting up suddenly the poor would just seek relief at the for an instant with a quick, bewil- workhouse at once, instead of holding dered inquiry, "What are you all out on charity till every one's patience about? who's dying?" and then re- is worn out. Depend upon it, if peolapsing to slumber without receiving ple come to poverty, they deserve it. any answer or attention.

I never knew anyone that didn't. *What made Doctor Ryder fancy There was old Nancy Perkins, who that the man did not get enough to was found dead in the streets one eat?" asked the sharp lady, after a morning, and she had brought herself pause.

to beggary by drunkenness. She “I suppose he looked so thin.” would sell the clothes off her back for

“Pooh! there are many thin people gin; and hundreds of others the same. that eat plenty. I recollect hearing of There is no believing anything that a man who could eat a leg of mutton these paupers say. I have been deat a meal, and yet looked like a ske- ceived over and over again by plausileton."

ble stories.” “ But Mr. Stutzer's servant says he Dillon went back to the sofa and never buys any meat now," observed held his peace. Bessie watched him Bessie.

anxiously. “Who would mind what a servant · Mamma, could we not send Mr. said ? Very likely they are all in a Stutzersomething?" she asked gently. league together, wanting to excite “Send him what?" pity. For myself I never approved Anything nice; a chicken, or some of having anything to do with that blanc mange ?" man; but you know Mrs. Meiklam “Or some pickled oysters or salmon, would force us to employ him, and aunt!” broke in Dillon, eagerly, here you see is the end of it. Pretend- starting up. ing indeed to teach you out of com Oh, aunt, do; I wish you would." pliment, and disappointing all the * Yes, mamma, I know you will ; other boys' fathers and mothers by you can't refuse ; you will give us saying he wasn't able to continue his leave to make up a nice present for instructions to them. Why should the

poor man. he make any difference between you "Blanc mange! Pickled oysters !" and the rest of his pupils ? Depend excla

ned the mother, in slow, emupon it, he has some view in it. phatic tones. “Pretty thing, indeed.

Dillon was quick-witted enough, What is he to me that I should be yet, somehow, he rarely-very rarely expected to support him! I have made a sharp answer. Nobody knew not the slightest idea of doing so." better when people were talking un Oh, mamma, you know you will, reasonably ; but nobody knew better when I wish it," said Bessie, who

2*

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knew, alas ! too well, her own power. a cold roasted partridge lying on a “Dillon and I must have our own shelf before her. What wonderful way this once.

things were in that cool and someThere is some cheese there in the what damp pantry-what a medley pantry this long time that you may of different odours--what bottles of take to him if you like, and some bright coloured liquids—what mysslices of cold mutton ; but I intended terious crocks tied down with brown them for old Jenny Black.”

paper coverings ! “That would affront him, aunt,” Mamma, this partridge will just said Dillon, gloomily.

do, and some of the oysters in that “Why, mamma, he would think jar up there. Now, please, do not we thought him a common beggar, if look so cross. You will let me do as we sent him that,” observed Bessie, I like this once, like a dear mother, whose chief aim in these charitable and say we may have them.”. suggestions was to please her cousin The mother scolded, grumbled, reDillon.

monstrated ; Dillon and Bessie en“And what is he starving for, if treated ; and, finally, they were perhe won't eat any thing he gets ?" mitted to fill a little basket with dif

“A sick man couldn't eat cold ferent good things suitable for a delimutton or cheese,” murmured Dillon. cate appetite. The cold partridge "Well

, I don't care; he ought to went in first, then a pot of marmabe glad to get anything, if he is so lade, then a small jar of pickled poor as you want to make me be- oysters, which Bessie tied down very lieve."

neatly with her own fair hands, while “Give me the key of the larder, her mother looked on, prophesying mamma,

,” demanded Bessie, in a tone that Dillon would break the things that showed she was very much in carrying them, and that Mr. Stutzer the habit of having her own way; would not thank anybody for any“Dillon and I will make a survey of thing. Dillon looked happy at last. the good things there, and I shall pack He grew rather hungry, too, while a little basket for him to carry to Mr. looking at all the good things in the Stutzer, on his way to school to- pantry; but he did not ask for any

supper that night. Up to his cold “I shall do no such thing. Who is bedroom, far away at the top of the this foreigner, that we should be ex- large house, he repaired thoughtfully. pected to feed him up and pamper The moon was shining brightly now, him ?"

and it, and the clouds after it, seemed “Oh, mamma, I have got the key!" rushing before the wind at a furious exclaimed Bessie, laughing, as she pace. Opening the window, the boy put her little hand into the small bas- looked out, leaning on his elbows. ket her mother's work-table. He could see the town, and the church “Come, now, let us all go down to spire, and the pavement beneath glisthe larder," and the wayward girl tening with the lately fallen rain ; ran merrily to the door. Her mother he could see the gas-lamps, looking rose hastily to follow, scolding, blurred and dim, dotting the streets ; frowning, and smiling by turns; but but it was not of these things he was Bessie far outstripped her, and had thinking. He liked the cold wind reached the lower depths of the blowing on his forehead, and that was house ere she was down the first flight why he leaned there looking out. of stairs. Dillon followed also ; and His meditations were not of tops or he and his aunt had just arrived at dogs, or a new suit of clothes, or even the larder door as Bessie was con of supper, but simply of his tutor, templating a dish of collared eels, and Mr. Stutzer.

morrow.

on

CHAPTER IV.

DILLON CROSBIE,

AND what is Dillon Crosbie doing in parlour fire was his mother's only his aunt's house ? Has he no other brother; he had been much older home? He has not. The fat gen- than she was, and he had always retleman whom we found dozing at the garded her rather as a father than a

brother. At seventeen she married, Crosbie in the last stage of consumpas everybody thought, in a very pro- tion. It was too late to do anything mising way, and became the wife of for her beyond soothing her dying a dashing and handsome Captain, moments by assurances of protecting Bagwell Crosbie, of the Dra- her boy, and providing for him as a goons, who had the name of large gentleman. He waited in Dublin estates in Ireland—the name, but till the grave opened to receive his certainly not the gain, the property sister, and then went back to Engbeing heavily mortgaged, even in his land, accompanied by his young father's lifetime. Mrs. Crosbie's for- nephew, then about two years old. tune was considerable, but it did not Marrying almost immediately, Mr. suffice to pay her husband's debts. Pilmer determined that Dillon should Crosbie Court was a fine old Irish always find a home under his roof. mansion, and required numerous ser- He always treated him with kindvants. There were carriages, and ness; but he was an indolent man, horses, and dogs to be kept up, and easily influenced by any spirit more Captain Crosbie found it hard to re- energetic than his own, and, unfortutrench bis expenses. His father and nately, his wife was by no means of grandfathers had always been hospi- a charitable disposition. The boy, table and leading people in their from the wreck of his father's forcounty. How could he bring him- tune, possessed only six hundred self to sink down into obscurity ? pounds in the world"; and this sum He could not bring himself to it, but being invested in Government funds, others did it for him. Creditors ac- at three per cent., produced an intercumulated ; they clamoured for pay- est of eighteen pounds a year, which ment; the estates were not entailed : helped to pay for his schooling and one by one they were sold off ; and' clothes. But his aunt was the most even Mrs. Crosbie was induced to economical of women, and she somegive up her marriage settlement to times thought it hard to be obliged save her husband's honour. Sorrow- to support a great boy, who consumed fully Captain Crosbie, with his wife nearly three times as much as her and little son, Dillon, left his once daughter Bessie ; and being detersplendid home to settle down in an mined that his clothes should cost as obscure lodging in Dublin, where he little as possible, she always got them lived but a few months, a stroke of made by the cheapest tailors, while paralysis carrying him off suddenly, orders were given that his shoes while yet in the prime of life. old should be made a size larger than the Mr. Pilmer–Mrs. Crosbie's father- dimensions of his feet, lest the latter had refused to help his son-in-law in should grow more quickly than the his misfortunes. He had given his former wore out. Dillon did not like daughter a large fortune, and was de- to be dressed worse than other lads, termined he would do nothing more but he was not of a nature given to for her. Arthur Pilmer, the brother, grumbling or murmuring. He never would gladly have rendered her as- fancied he was not understood or apsistance, but, unfortunately, he had preciated; he never entertained dark never been a favourite with his thoughts of running away from his father, who, though he had given him uncle's house, and turning sailor, or no profession, allowed him so small soldier, or scavenger, or anything else an income during his lifetime, that likely to improve his temporal conhe could neither marry himself, nor dition. Yet, he was not wanting in help his married sister. When the proper spirit. He never cringed to old gentleman died, he left all his any one, though he never felt that he money to his son Arthur, the will ought to be unhappy because he was being dated several years back, at a depending on people who were not time when the Crosbies were sup- his parents. Perhaps he knew that posed to be well enough off, and be- he had strong arms and legs, and a fore Dillon was born. Immediately healthy frame, and that, even if his on coming into possession of a large uncle and aunt turned him adrift, he fortune, Arthur Pilmer determined could earn a livelihood by some to render assistance to his sister.

The boys at school at first He set off at once for Ireland, where, laughed at his dress, but he laughed to his infinite grief, he found Mrs. himself too, and then the merriment

means.

ceased to be an excitement. It could indolent, and knew nothing whatever not vex him, so its aim was frus- of educating youth; while his wife, trated. His superior size and strength, though over careful about household and his well-known courage, pre- matters and all worldly affairs, never vented his schoolfellows from thinking dreamed of such a thing as moulding his good-humour was assumed from the principles of either her own chilfear. There was not a boy at Mr. dren or her nephew. Bessie was her Benson's academy that he could not especial pet and darling, the only have beaten, had he been engaged in creature on earth round whom her a boxing match. Once, and only heart was twined very closely ; yet once, he had been exasperated to she was not always gentle to her. enter into combat at the school, his The poor child was scolded and petted antagonist being a much older and by turns-rarely ever permitted to do larger boy than himself. The renown anything without a sort of sham comof this fight lived long at the school, bat, which always ended in her gainowing to the remarkable strength of ing her own way. Bessie knew this both combatants. Dillon's foe was well, and her mother's “No” might

Tom Ryder, the only son of the chief as well have been “Yes” for all she physician at Yaxley--a young gentle- valued it. Yet nature had also gifted man notorious for being a bully, and her largely ; her disposition was of a regarded as generally formidable. fine order-her feelings quick-her On this memorable day he was tor- delicacy of mind remarkable. How menting a lame boy-a parlour often do we find such children where boarder at the school-when Dillon they could be least expected-growCrosbie, roused to a pitch of indig- ing up in ungenial spots-surrounded nation, became the little fellow's by circumstances of adverse kind ? champion. A grand combat ensued. Like plants of a rare order springing Shouts rose on the air as the fight up in some uncultivated garden, waxed vigorous. “Hurrah, Crosbie !" whose owner does not understand “Well done, Ryder !” burst from ad- their value, Dillon and Bessie, in miring lookers on, as each antagonist some mysterious way, grew from day seemed rising in the ascendant; but to day, perfectly unlike any one round finally, the triumphant cries grew them. The latter enjoyed all the more enthusiastic, as Dillon proved privileges of an only child - her himself the victor, while Tom Ryder younger sister, Mary, having resided, lay flat on the ground. For some since early childhood, with a wealthy time a coolness naturally existed godmother-a Mrs. Devenish-who between Ryder and Crosbie, but it was a distant relative of Mrs. Pilmer, soon passed away, and they were and who, having no children of her friends again, little knowing how own, was a person not to be disregreatly they would interfere with each garded, when she requested permission other in after-life. Curiously enough, to keep her little god-daughter from from that day Tom's father admired year to year under her roof as her his son's conqueror, for he heard all own child. Mrs. Pilmer, after a few about the fight, and the cause of it, natural scruples, consented to the and Doctor Ryder was a generous arrangement; and it was only as a hearted man.

visiter that little Mary Pilmer made “Never fight, Dillon," he said, her appearance once a year, or so, “except in a cause like that-it is at her parents' house at Yaxley, acthe only one justifiable," and the her- companied by her very pompous godculean physician coughed violently, mother, who always travelled in her running his fingers through his bushy own carriage, and brought with her hair.

her own servants, when she made On the whole, young Crosbie got her advent at the Pilmers' residence. on very well at Mr. Benson's, with- Bessie had strong feelings; she loved out thinking much about it, for he her father and mother with intensity, did not spend much time thinking and her cousin Dillon also held a of himself in any respect. It was high place in her affections. Often well that nature had so far gifted she was pained by her mother's treathim, for no careful training had been ment of him. Many a bitter tear she resorted to at home to form his mind. shed when she felt that he was too His uncle, though kind-hearted, was severely punished for any childish

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misdemeanor. Dillon loved her too sports. Indeed, an occasional fear —they were as confidential as brother shot across the very shrewd mind of and sister-rarely quarrelling, though Mrs. Pilmer that this affection might Bessie was often inclined to be ty- possibly ripen into a deeper feeling rannical in planning games and plays, as time wore on. and having her own way in all their

CHAPTER V.

THE PRESENT TO THE SICK MAN.

DILLON got up very early next day, ing ??? · repeated the boy very disand dressed more briskly than usual. tinctly. He hurriedly took his breakfast “Not much different, I believe.” some slices of bread and a bowl of Can I see him ?” milk which had been left as usual for Can

you what ?” very frowningly him on the parlour sideboard the was demanded, as if Dillon had made night before—for the family breakfast- some reprehensible request. hour at the Pilmers' house was a very “See him !” shouted the lad. late one, and the lad was generally “You needn't bawl so loud. I'm long at school before his uncle's not deaf if you'd speak plain. I don't morning repast had commenced. know whether you can see him or Bessie had been careful to place the not. I'll ask," and the old woman well-filled basket also on the side- hobbled away. She returned as soon board; and it was with a pleasant as could be expected from her leifeeling that Dillon shut the hall-door surely movements, and informed Dilafter him that day-his books fast- lon that he might walk in. He apened together by a strap, in one hand proached the little parlour where he -the basket in the other. How cold had always been accustomed to find it was! A thick carpet of snow lay Mr. Stutzer. on the ground ; sparrows were twit “He isn't there,” said the old tering and fluttering on the house- woman. tops as he came into the town, which “Where is he, then ?” was within a few minutes' walk of In his own room-where else ?" his uncle's villa in the suburbs. The “But did he say that I might go clear blue sky looked very frosty-all to him?? asked the boy, hesitatingly. was bright, white, and icy. His shoes Oh, he said nothing of that.” sank with a crisp, crackling sound into Of what ?" the snow, leaving large footprints in Of his going anywhere." it; his hands were redder than ever- Dillon would have laughed if he his nose quite blue. Now and then had been in a laughing mood, but he he paused in his swift course, and laid merely asked his question over again. his books down, to have a fling at a “Yes; he said you might go to woodpecker or blackbird hovering in him—but don't stop long-the doctor the outskirts of the town-now and said last night he wasn't to talk then he made a snowball and sent it much." flying at some particular point of With a grave face the boy bent his aim, and then he sped on, all the steps towards the sick room, trying to swifter, to make up for time lost. As walk as softly as his shoes would perhe neared the cottage where Mr. mit, but the heavy soles would come Stutzer lived, his pace slackened; and down with unexpected creaks, in spite on arriving finally at the door, he of his efforts. At last he had reached waited a moment before lifting the his destination. He found Mr. Stutknocker: then he rapped gently. The zer, dressed, even to his boots, but old, half blind woman, Margaret lying on his bed. He smiled as the Spurs, made her appearance, looking boy entered, and for a moment a faint much as usual.

red hue stole over his face, leaving it, “How is Mr. Stutzer ?” he asked, when gone, so white that it almost shaking the snow off his feet on the mat. seemed to glisten.

“ What?" in a loud, slightly angry “Good morning, sir. I hope you tone.

feel better," said Dillon, taking the “How is Mr. Stutzer this morn cold hand extended to him.

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