That evening passed. Sunday passed, the last day of the dying year; and Monday morning, New Year's day, dawned.
New Year's Day. Mr. and Mrs. Hamlyn were seated at the breakfast-table. It was a bright, cold, sunny morning, showing plenty of blue sky. Young Master Walter, in consideration of the day, was breakfasting at their table, seated in his high chair.
"Me to have dinner wid mamma to-day! Me have pudding!"
"That you shall, my sweetest; and everything that's good," assented his mother.
In came Japhet at this juncture. "There's a little boy in the hall, sir, asking to see you," said he to his master. "He—"
"Oh, we shall have plenty of boys here to-day, asking for a new year's gift," interposed Mrs. Hamlyn, rather impatiently. "Send him a shilling, Philip."
"It's not a poor boy, ma'am," answered Japhet, "but a little gentleman: six or seven years old, he looks. He says he particularly wants to see master."
Philip Hamlyn smiled. "Particularly wants a shilling, I expect. Send him in, Japhet."
The lad came in. A well-dressed beautiful boy, refined in looks and demeanour, bearing in his face a strange likeness to Mr. Hamlyn. He looked about timidly.