in the wild fastnesses of Kabylia. It was
natural to these lawless lads, it was good
generalship in them, to look with profound
suspicion upon every person who approached
them from the direction of the enemy. The
Philanthropist was, therefore, received with
misgivings; and his professions of friendship,
and his offers of assistance were entertained
with distrust. Nobody was the only lad
whom he won. And, when Nobody entered
the Philanthropist's kitchen, warm, and
plentifully provided as it was, he endeavoured to
look pleased. He threw his flat, greasy little
cap upon the dresser.

"Hang it up, young man," said the cook,
sharply, pointing to some pegs. It must be
confessed that when young Nobody was
uncovered, he was not a prepossessing object.
His face had a greasy paleness. His hair
was matted over his brow, and brought to
two curls upon his cheeks. His throat had
something of the bull quality about it; but
his hands might have belonged to one of
the royal princes. There was a strange,
flat, corduroy odour about him, also, that
fairly offended Mrs. Tantrums' olfactory
nerves.

Tantrums was a warm-hearted Irishwoman,
who appeared to regard her master as an
amiable monomaniac. And Nobody was
received by Tantrums as the most recent
evidence of the Philanthropist's insanity. The
poor boy saw, at once, the kind of welcome
he had to expect in the kitchen; and he was
inclined to give his views on tempers
generally to his new fellow-servant, in a peculiar
language that would have astonished this
dignified and compassionate lady. But for
the moment he restrained himself, and took a
seat near the fire, having been warned to
remain at a respectful distance from the
muffins upon the fender. Tantrums was
suspicious of the new-comer. By continually
blowing as she passed near him, she intimated
that the peculiar flat, corduroy odour, to which
we have already referred, was not unnoticed
by her sagacious nostrils. By banging the
tea-tray upon the table; and again, the tea-
pot upon the tea-tray, she wished to convey
to Nobody her displeasure generally at his
presence. Women are doubly armed. Not
only has their tongue an agility which the
masculine organ seeks in vain to rival, but
they enjoy a fund of pantomime, more
especially for the expression of displeasure, that
makes masculine gesture appear tame and
beggarly.

Nobody perceived that he was committed
to the tender mercies of a tartar. He
winced; for he saw that it would be
impossible to mollify her. The assumption of
cool, deliberate indifference marked Master
Nobody's behaviour henceforth. Tantrums
went through those somewhat trying evolutions
which would have been described in
suburban tea-parties as giving herself airs.
But cool Nobody responded only with a
subdued whistle. He sate, gazing into the fire,
till supper-time came, when he ate his bread
and cheese in silence, and in due time went
to bed. He had remarked the care with
which Tantrums had locked up every scrap
of bread, every candle-end. He saw that
she knew his story, and shared only a
moderate proportion of the Philanthropist's
enthusiasm.

Well, after years spent in the streets;
after nights in dark arches and foul lodging-
houses; after sad hours of moonlight, when
no roof stood between that young head and
heaven; after times of sore want, amid soaking
rains and in stifling fog; after tramping
over bleak downs till the face was numbed
and the bones ached to the marrow; after
weeks of dreary drill in silent prisons— here
was the wanderer snugly hived at last. Now
the world lies fair before him. A generous
soul under that comfortable roof guards him,
and will see justice done to him by the world.
For to-morrow's dinner he need have no care.
A few not irksome duties and his bread, and
more than his bread, is earned. As his
wicked head presses, for the first time, a
clean white pillow, and as his poor limbs
refuse to be still, but wander in unquiet
delight about the soft bed, what thoughts
are eddying in the young brain of most
fortunate Nobody?

We may be sure that they are confused.
The boy has wandered back to his old
haunts; his companions are possibly enjoying
the fruit of a successful robbery, and are
alluding to his "softness" in unmeasured
terms of contempt. He cannot tell why he
should wish himself among them. The truth
is obvious: he has friends there. He has
predilections and affections of which the world
knows nothing, and consequently never takes
into the account when judging him. The
comfortable bed is hugely enjoyed; the
supper was a welcome luxury; still there is
the vision of the tramp's lodging—and there,
grinning round the rusty iron stove, sit the
Bouncer, One-eyed Joe, and other choice
spirits. Almost unaccountable does it
appear to respectability that has lived for
fifteen years in Grove Street, and never once
permitted a tax-gatherer to call twice, that a
boy raked, like some rotting leaf from the
road-side, should lie in his first snug bed only
to dream with envy of other refuse leaves
still lying unregarded in the foul ditches of
the earth! Yet be assured of this,
Respectability, the World has sown upon the
soft soil of this creature's heart the deadly
poison that is now within it, where might
have been grown sweetest honey-bearing
flowers.

The Philanthropist enjoys his profound
sleep of quiet conscience over the gipsy head
of Nobody. Does the good man understand
his charge? We shall see.

Our hero was speedily set to work. To
work, the Philanthropist justly admonished