"For him?" asked the merchant, nodding his head toward Johnny.
"Yes, for him. You see he needs them badly enough."
"Boots would be better."
"Ah, yes."
Mr. Miles's eyes began to twinkle. He had a happy thought; and so he put Johnny's silver dollar, which he had been twirling by the string, into his vest pocket, and began to examine carefully one pair after another of the boots laid out for him on the counter.
"This is a good pair," he said, at last. "What is the price?"
"Three dollars. I'll warrant those; they are custom made; but they were too small for the child whose mother ordered them. I should have charged her five if they'd suited."
"Yes, I see they're first-rate boots,—what, in the hose line, I should call 'A, number one.' Now I'll tell you what I propose. This little fellow is the son of a widow, who, when my wife found her, had literally not one mouthful of food. Just think of such destitution if you can!—a good Christian, too; but the death of her husband and her own long sickness have exhausted everything. I propose to give half the price, and let you give the other."
"Oh, I can't afford that! Why, I've taken off two dollars already."