By-and-by it appeared that there were to be fresh changes in Bert's life. Mr. Corney had resolved to leave the miserable street in which he lived, and seek a home for himself and his sister somewhere in the country.
"I'd like to go back to Scotland," he said, "if I could possibly get the money to carry us so far. My sister has the little bit of money her husband left her. It comes in quarterly, and she's been wont to drink it all as she had it. I've saved a trifle, and I'm a handy man at odd jobs, so I doubt not we shall be able to make a living.
"It's the only chance for her," he added sorrowfully, "to go where she's out of the way of the drink. Here it's always before her, as you may say. These streets reek of it. But in God's beautiful country, and the bonny air of Scotland, she may lose the craving; though it's God's grace only that can save her, I know."
"Oh, Mr. Corney! What shall I do if you go away?" cried Bert, in sudden fear. "There'll be no one left."
"I've thought of that," said Mr. Corney heartily, "and you must come with us, Bert—come with us—that's what you must do. We'll see if we can't make a man of you in Scotland."
Bert's eyes brightened at the words; but after a moment's reflection, he shook his head.
"I couldn't go," he said; "I couldn't go where Prin would not be able to find me if she wanted me. No, I must stay here."
"Then you think your sister will be coming back here?" said Mr. Corney.
"I don't think nothing," Bert replied, "but I mean to stay here."
And from this resolve, he was not to be moved. When Mr. Corney and his sister departed at the end of August, Bert remained behind in the stifling, ill-smelling street.