"I suppose so. He's sent her to a good school, and he minds what she says, though he'd hate to think anyone noticed it. I hardly ever open my mouth before him without he snaps out something sharp and nasty—sometimes I feel I'd a deal rather be in the workhouse than here."
"Dear! dear!" said Mr. Dawson; "I'm afraid you're discontented with your lot in life. Are you learning to be a jeweller?"
"Yes; but I hate the work. I should like to be a market gardener."
"I suppose Mousey has told you that's my trade?"
John Monday nodded. He was greatly attracted by Mr. Dawson's kind face, which seemed to express his goodwill towards the world in general.
"I love the country," the boy said earnestly; "when I've a holiday I go for a long walk to where the air's fresh, and the birds sing, and I feel as though I'd give anything to live where I could learn all about the trees and flowers; but what's the good of talking like this when it's my fate to be in this miserable hole all day long?"
He broke off, growing crimson, as though ashamed of having spoken so freely to a stranger.
Mr. Dawson regarded him with sympathetic eyes as he inquired—
"What do you mean by fate, young man? What I call Providence, I suppose. You take my word for it, when God has work for you in the country He will send you there, and till He does I reckon your duty's here, and I'd try to do it cheerfully, if I were you. Who is supposed to clean this shop?"
"I am," John Monday answered, surprised at the question. He was secretly much gratified at being called a young man.