"Show us a picture,"said the boy."Tell us where to look."
"Ah! It wants my eyes, Charley."
"Cut away then, and tell us what your eyes make of it."
"Why, there are you and me, Charley, when you were quite a baby that never knew a mother——"
"Don't go saying I never knew a mother,"interposed the boy,"for I knew a little sister that was sister and mother both."
The girl laughed delightedly, and her eyes filled with pleasant tears, as he put both his arms round her waist and so held her.
"There are you and me, Charley, when father was away at work and locked us out, for fear we should set ourselves afire or fall out of window, sitting on the door-sill, sitting on other door-steps, sitting on the bank of the river, wandering about to get through the time. You are rather heavy to carry, Charley, and I'm often obliged to rest. Sometimes we are sleepy and fall asleep together in a corner, sometimes we are very hungry, sometimes we are a little frightened, but what is oftenest hard upon us is the cold. You remember, Charley?"
"I remember,"said the boy, pressing her to him twice or thrice,"that I snuggled under a little shawl, and it was warm there."
"Sometimes it rains, and we creep under a boat or the like of that; sometimes it's dark, and we get among the gaslights, sitting watching the people as they go along the streets. At last, up comes father and takes us home. And home seems such a shelter after out of doors! And father pulls my shoes off, and dries my feet at the fire, and has me to sit by him while he smokes his pipe long after you are abed, and I notice that father's is a large hand but never a heavy one when it touches me, and that father's is a rough voice but never an angry one when it speaks to me. So, I grow up, and little by little father trusts me, and makes me his
