He took from his waistcoat-pocket something
wrapped in a piece of old newspaper, opened it,
and spread it on the table. There were three
half-crowns, one shilling, a sixpence, and three-pence
in coppers. That amount was also set
down on a little square of white paper, in clear
figures, which I supposed to be his.

"Certainly," I said. "I will keep this for
you, if you wish it. What is it for?"

He was silent.

"Is it for any particular object?"

"Well yes, sir,"

"Perhaps you would rather not tell me?"

He considered a moment, and then answered
that "It is towards paying that debt."

"That debt! What debt?"

"Father's debt to Mr. Moreen, you know,
sir. Father owed him eighty-seven pounds nine
shillings and threepence," he said.

I looked at the little heap of money on the
table, and involuntarily smiled.

"My good boy, you don't hope that you can
pay such a sum as that?"

"I mean to pay it, sir."

"You may mean to pay it, and it shows an
honesty of intention that I cannot too highly
commend; but you can't pay it, my boy. Nor
would Mr. Moreen dream of expecting you to
do so. It would take a lifetime of service to
pay off sucli a debt as that. Let me see. What
are your wages?"

"Eight guineas a year, sir, two suits of livery,
and one working suit, one hat, and eighteen-pence
a week for beer."

"Tell me what put this idea into your head?"

"Mr. Moreen, sir."

"Mr. Moreen! Have you seen him, then?"

"No, sir; not again; but you remember, sir,
he said that " The boy paused, and taking
a step forward, added very low, as though what
he was about to utter was too dreadful to be
spoken aloud "that there was no honesty in
the blood—no honesty in the blood, sir!"

I felt a greater interest in him at that moment
than I had ever done before. It was evident to
me now, that the boy had strong and deep feelings,
though from some cause he never gave
them expression.

"Now, don't let those words rankle in your
mind, Arthur," I said, kindly, laying my hand
upon his thin shoulder; "Mr. Moreen was
angry when he said that, and not without cause,
as you know; for your father—well! Your
father did him an injury. People say things
when they're angry, that they don't hold to
afterwards. We all do."

"Mr. Moreen will hold to it. He believes
it, sir. He said we were a bad lot, all of us.
He said I should turn out as bad as the rest.
He said there was no honesty in the blood."

The boy still spoke low, but with rapid utterance,
and as though he had repeated those words
again and again to himself scores of times.

"Take back this money," I said. "I will
answer for it that Mr. Moreen would wish you
to do so. I know him better than you do; and
I am certain that the last thing he would dream
of doing, would be to take the little earnings
of a poor lad like you."

"I can't take back that money, sir."

There was a pause.

"Shall I ask Mr. Moreen to consent to
receive it, as a proof of your honest desire to pay
what is owed?"

He became excited immediately.

"Oh pray! pray don't do that, sir! I shall be
sorry I told you at all, if you do. Pray keep it
for me, sir; just as it is. Only keep it for the
present, and say nothing to him—nothing to him."

He seemed to lay the matter so much to heart,
that, after a few more ineffectual remonstrances,
I consented to humour him. So I sealed up
the money in his presence, writing on the outide
that it was a deposit of Arthur Bentmore's.

I did not forget to tell Mrs. Sullivan that I
was less satisfied with her page's looks, than
she was with his conduct; that he was growing
too rapidly, and was more emaciated than I
liked to see. He should be generously fed, and
above all, not be stinted in his sleep. She agreed
with me as to the alteration of his looks;—
said she had herself felt uneasy about it; had
intended to consult me in the matter; and
summoned The Treasure to our conference.

Tapps had volumes to say on the subject:
no boy, especially a growing boy, couldn't
expect to be strong, that didn't take kindly to
his beer; which Jeames, he never had from the
first. Jeames was a strange boy. There was no
knowing where to have him. He never took a
drop o' beer from one month's end to another,
didn't Jeames! Why not, Dr. Peregrine
would ask? which of course—why not? Why!
he actually preferred water! But some was like
that; and a great misfortune too. It wasn't
for the saving neither. Jeames was a strange
party. In fact, Mr. Tapps had never known but
one other like him—and he was a very strange
party indeed.

Time passed on; and I felt so entirely at
ease about the boy—so satisfied that he would
now do well without any help of mine—that I
troubled myself but little about him. He had
been out of town with the family, and had grown
so tall, that he overtopped Mr. Tapps; a liberty
which must have seemed strange to the well
regulated mind of that individual. His mistress
had been obliged to promote him from buttons
to a regular livery; and in the social intercourse
of the servants' hall, he was now "our footman."
Thus satisfactorily closed his second year of
service; but with the opening of the third, came the
startling intelligence that he was "leaving to
better himself!"

I did not attend Lady Fetherstone, Arthur's
new mistress, and, therefore, saw less of him
than before; although I did occasionally catch
a glimpse of him on the box of his lady's
old-fashioned barouche, during my professional
progresses: till at length the closed shutters of her
ladyship's house in Bumption-street, indicated
that she, her companion, her lapdog, and the
rest of the establishment, had adjourned for the
autumn to Tunbridge Wells.