Poor little Arthur was overwhelmed with the novelty of his
position. The idea of sleeping in the room with strange boys had
clearly never crossed his mind before, and was as painful as it
was strange to him. He could hardly bear to take his jacket
off; however, presently, with an effort, off it came, and then he
paused and looked at Tom, who was sitting at the bottom of his
bed, talking and laughing.

"Please, Brown," he whispered, "may I wash my face and hands?"

"Of course, if you like," said Tom, staring: "that's your
wash-hand stand under the window, second from your bed. You'll
have to go down for more water in the morning if you use it all."

And on he went with his talk, while Arthur stole timidly from
between the beds out to his wash-hand stand, and began his
ablutions, thereby drawing for a moment on himself the attention
of the room.

On went the talk and laughter. Arthur finished his washing and
undressing, and put on his nightgown. He then looked round more
nervously than ever. Two or three of the little boys were already
in bed, sitting up with their chins on their knees. The light
burned clear, the noise went on.

It was a trying moment for the poor, little, lonely boy; however,
this time he did not ask Tom what he might or might not do, but
dropped on his knees by his bedside, as he had done every day
from his childhood, to open his heart to Him who heareth the
cry and beareth the sorrows of the tender child, and the strong