She wrapped half the contents of the sugar basin in a piece of paper and gave it him; then, seeing his eyes fixed wistfully on the pile of buttered toast, she took a couple of slices, arranged them in sandwich fashion, butter side inward, and put them into his chubby and grimy fist. "There you are. And, Tommy, you'll be a good boy, and won't eat any of the sugar, will you?"
"No; I'll be dood, Miss 'Orton. I'll promise I'll be dood."
"Then there's one lump all to yourself!" she said, sticking it into the other fist. "Open the door for him, Mr. Falconer; and don't watch him up the stairs; he'll keep his promise," she added, in a low voice, as she searched for a comparatively clean spot on Tommy's face on which to kiss him.
"Go on—you lucky young beggar!" said Falconer, under his breath, and eying Tommy enviously.
"If you've any pity to waste, spend it on the children," said Nell, with a sigh. "Oh, what would I give to be a fairy, just for one day, and whisk them off to the seaside, into the open fields, anywhere out of Beaumont Buildings. Sometimes, when I see the women drive by in their carriages, with a lap dog on their knees or stuck up beside them, it makes me feel wicked! I want to stick my head out of the window and call put: 'Come up here and fetch some of the children for a drive; I'll take care of the dog while you're gone!' Dick's late!" she broke off; "we'd better begin. Help me wheel the table down to the window."
He attempted to do it by himself, but the color rose to his face and his breath came fast, and Nell insisted on bearing a hand.
"That's better!" she said cheerfully, and ignoring the signs of his weakness. "You can reach the toast——"
He stood by the window, looking down absently and regaining his breath which the effort, slight as it was, had tried.
"There's a brougham stopped at the door," he said. "Doctor, I suppose. No, it's a lady—a fashionable lady. Perhaps she's come to take one of the children for a drive?"
Nell looked out and uttered an exclamation.