year older, to get her living as best she could. Never knowing a parent's love, the affections of these two children had gone out to each other. Each to each was more than all the world beside. At the time our story opens Nelly was nine years of age, and Benny, as we said, a year older.
Still the minutes dragged along, and Benny came not.
The 'busses were crowded with people outside and in, wrapped in huge warm overcoats, and all down Lord Street she watched the hurrying crowds bending their steps homewards. And she tried to picture their cheerful homes, with great blazing fires, and happy children running to greet them, and wondered how none of them ever paused to notice her, shivering there in the shadow of the church.
At length the great clocks all around began to strike five, and Benny had not come; and into the child's heart crept a feeling of unutterable loneliness, and she began to cry.
Besides, she was hungry and cold, and there was a great fear in her heart that something had befallen her brother. The last stroke of the Town Hall clock, however, had scarcely died away when she heard the patter of bare feet around the comer, and the next moment her brother, panting and breathless, stood before her.
"Oh, Nell!" he burst out, "I's just soft, I is. I's missed a hour in the time. I never did think I was such a fool. But can't be helped now, nohow."
"I was afraid you'd got hurt, Benny ; but I don't care now you're all right," said Nelly, looking proudly at the flushed face of her sturdy young brother.
