"I hope, sir," he said, with tears in his voice, "I haven't done any harm?"
"No, no, lad; I'm going to give you supper and send you off. Come."
Somehow, lines from Thorn's beautiful poem "The Mitherless Bairn" were borne to Mr. Morgan's mind, as he led the boy round through the garden to the back door of the villa.
Jack was not mitherless, but in other respects he resembled the subject of the sad song.
"Oh speak him not harshly—he trembles the while—
He bends to your bidding and blesses your smile:
In their dark hour o' anguish the heartless shall learn
That God deals the blow for the mitherless bairn."
* * * * *
When little Johnnie Greybreeks had left his mother's room that evening, he had been on business bent. Business of a very important description, I can assure you, reader. Important to Johnnie, at all events. A few weeks before this, when wandering in the western outskirts of the town, which at the time our story commences—namely, away back in 1849—were beautifully wooded and with very few houses indeed to be seen, he had come upon the ruined walls of a mansion that had been destroyed by fire. It was open to the road, and probably people as poor as Johnnie had been here before, for every rag and piece of wood had been carried away. But to the boy's delight he had come across an ash heap, over which a large elder tree drooped, half hiding it, and here were at least two dozen medicine-bottles, many smashed but many whole. What a find if they could only be his! Next day he had wandered that way again, and was glad to find a man there who was about to clear the heap. The man laughed when Johnnie volunteered his assistance, but for sake of company, he said, permitted the boy to help him. The job was finished in a couple of hours, and Johnnie had the bottles as his wages.
He took as many as he could down to the burn and washed them, then came back for more, and by-and-by they were all nice and clean and hidden away where he was sure no one could find them but himself. Then a good-natured chemist in the street where the boy lived had promised him ninepence for the lot. Ninepence! what a fortune! He had never seen so much money before. When he got it, he tied it up in a handkerchief—it was all in pennies and half-pennies—and resolved not to tell his mother till Christmas eve, when he would go quietly out and purchase something nice for next day's dinner.
And it was with the view of making these purchases that Johnnie had come out to-night. He had come too early though, for in the shops he was to favour with his custom, things were never at their very cheapest till nearly closing-time. So he had treated himself to a walk in the west end.
Then the snow began to fall, and we know the rest.