“I believe that in this city of London alone there are thousands,—yes, tens of thousands, who know not, when they rise in the morning, where they shall find a morsel of food during the day. I did not tell you what happened to me when I was in the city, Neddy.”
“Do tell me now,” cried the boy, seating himself by his father, “while we rest a little quietly here.”
“I was walking along a narrow gloomy lane on my way to the shipping-office, when suddenly I felt a hand at my pocket. Mine was instantly down upon it, and I captured a little thief who appeared to be about your own age.”
“The little rogue!” exclaimed Neddy, indignantly. “And what did you do with him, papa? Did you give him over to the police, or thrash him soundly with your stick?”
“I grieved to see one so young already plunging into crime.”
“Yes, that is the worst of it,” said Neddy. “If he is so bad as a boy, what will he be when he is a man! He will be sure to end on the gallows! I hope you punished him well, papa.”
I pricked up my ears on hearing this conversation; I could not help connecting it with what Bob had told his lame little brother; I therefore listened with peculiar interest. Not that, as a rat, I could understand the word crime, or know why human beings feel it wrong to seize anything that they want and can get. It was evident to me that they are governed by laws and principles quite incomprehensible to my race. For as man has no scruple in taking from rats their lives and their skins, so rats, on the other hand, have no manner of scruple in taking all they require from man.
But to return to the gentleman and his son.
“No, Neddy, I did not punish the child,” replied the former gravely. “I looked at his meagre form clothed in rags, his wasted countenance prematurely old in its expression of sorrow and care, his hollow eyes, his sunken cheeks,—and I thought of you, my son!” the gentleman added, with a sigh.
“Well,” said Neddy, “I hope there’s a precious deal of difference between me and a beggarly thief!”