A. L. O. E.'s picture story book.

by A. L. O. E.

A little reflection showed Ben that this could not be done. "She'd be crying out again, 'Get away with ye;' she'd think I was fingering her cakes. Besides—" here conscience spoke strongly once more—"does not the Bible tell us to confess our faults one to another? Is it not the brave, the right way to go straight to the persons we've wronged and tell them we're sorry for the past?"

It was a hard struggle for Ben, and when with a short, silent prayer for help, he walked on again towards High Street, the child was more of a true hero than many who have earned medals and fame. He was conquering Satan, he was conquering self, he was bearing hunger and daring shame, that he might be honest and truthful.

Ben soon came in sight of Betty and her stall; it seemed to the boy that the wrinkled old face looked more cross and peevish than ever. A sailor was standing beside the woman, buying some gingerbread nuts.

"Now or never," thought Ben, who did not trust himself to delay, now that his mind was made up. His face flushed to the roots of his hair with the effort that he was making, the child walked straight up to the stall, laid his penny upon it, and said, "I took one of your cakes to-day—I'm sorry—there is the money for it!"

"Well, Ben Madden!" exclaimed the old woman in surprise, "you're an honester lad than I took you for—you mind what your mother taught you."

"Ben Madden!" cried the sailor, looking hard at the orphan boy. "That's a name I know well. Can this be the son of the sister whom I've not set eyes on these seven long years!"

"His mother was the widow of big Ben the glazier," said Betty, "who died by a fall from a window."

"The very same!" cried the sailor, grasping the hand of his nephew, and giving it a hearty shake. "What a lucky chance that we met! And where's your mother, my boy?"

Tears gushed into poor Ben's eyes, as in a low voice, he answered, "In heaven."

The seaman's rough hearty manner instantly changed; he turned away his head, and was silent for several minutes, as if struggling with feelings to which he was ashamed to give way. Then, laying his brown hand on the shoulder of his nephew, he said in a kindly tone, "So you've neither father nor mother, poor child; you're all alone in the world! I'll be a father to you, for the sake of poor dear Alice."