He laughed, showing as he did so a row of strong, white teeth. He was evidently by no means depressed by the thought of his friendless position.
"Mr. Harding took me from the workhouse," he continued, "and he's bringing me up to his trade. I live here, you know."
"Do you?" cried the little girl. "It was very kind of Cousin Robert to take you from the workhouse, wasn't it?"
"Oh, as to that, he doesn't lose by me," he replied frankly. "I run his errands, look after his shop, and do heaps of odd jobs about the place. Oh, he gets the work out of me, I can tell you!"
Mousey thought he was not as grateful as he should have been under the circumstances; but, of course, she did not tell him so. He was peeping through the glass door, and apparently satisfied with the sight of his master still in conversation with the customer, drew the jam-pot towards him, and spread his bread and butter thickly with raspberry preserve.
"The old man doesn't allow me to eat jam with bread and butter," he explained; "he says it's extravagant. It must be either bread and butter, or bread and jam, so if he's out of the way I help myself. Won't you have some?"
"No, thank you; I've finished," Mousey replied. There was silence for a few minutes, during which John Monday disposed of his forbidden luxury with evident enjoyment, whilst his companion wondered what would happen if by any chance Mr. Harding returned to the parlour and caught him.
"They call you Mousey, don't they?" he asked presently. "But that's not your real name, I suppose?"
"No. My real name is Arabella Abbot, but everyone calls me Mousey."
"Shall I?" he inquired; then as Mousey nodded, he said, "All right, I will. And you can call me John."