"So they are," she answered. "Yours too, I think."
"Oh, them don't matter," he replied. "But Willie's on'y a little chap;
I must take care on 'im."
Mrs. Blair was often touched when she noticed this boy's devotion to his little brother. He never seemed to care what hardships he went through himself, but Willie must be shielded at all costs.
It took a long time to save up the required sum, but at length Bob managed it, and one night the boy came in with an old coat and a pair of shoes tucked under his arm. Of course the coat was not a very good fit, and the shoes were too large: but Bob had picked up the two at an old clothes-shop for two shillings, and they were the best he could do. At any rate, they were whole, and they would keep Willie warm.
It was a miserably foggy evening in November. The roads were frightfully dirty, and Bob worked with all his might to keep the crossing clean; but the people all seemed in too much of a hurry to take any notice of the little sweeper, and Willie fared no better with his matches. Fairly worn out and tired, the little fellow began to cry.
"Let's go 'ome, Bob," he sobbed. "I'm so cold."
"All right," returned the other. "Seems no use to stop 'ere.
Folks ain't got nothin' for us to-night."
Bob shouldered his broom, and they turned off down a side street.
They had not gone far when Willie suddenly stopped.
"'Ark, Bob! Wot's that?" he whispered.
"Sounds like as if some one was a-singin'," was he answer.
"P'raps we shall come to 'em in a minute. Come on!"