"Look yere, Tom. I really feels fur yer, fur mother's h'awful when she says a thing. There's no hope of mother letting of yer off, Tom. No, not the ghost of a hope. But see yere—this is my h'own. I got it—no matter 'ow I got it, and I'll give it to yer fur yer h'old dog. The dog ain't nothink but a burden on yer, Tom, and I'd like him. I'd give yer the shilling for h'old Trusty, Tom."
But at these words all the color rushed back to Tom's face.
"Take that instead of Trusty," he said, aiming a blow with all his might and main at Pat, and sending him and his shilling rolling downstairs. The false strength with which his sudden indignation had inspired him enabled him to get up the remaining stairs to his attic; but when once there, the poor little sweeper nearly fainted.
CHAPTER V.
THE TEMPTATION.
Perhaps on this dark evening there could scarcely be found in all London three more unhappy creatures than those who crouched round the empty grate in Tom's attic. In truth, over this poor attic rested a cloud too heavy for man to lift, and good and bad angels were drawing near to witness the issues of victory or defeat.
"We'll get into bed," said Tom, looking drearily round the supperless, fireless room. "Pepper," he continued as he pressed his arms round his little brother, "should yer mind werry much going to the work'us arter h'all?"
"Oh, yes, yes, Tom! Oh, Tom! ef they took me from yer, I'd die."