might come, and then he would be snatched unceremoniously away from the
open door, and the beggar sent smartly about his business by one of the
pert-tongued maids); "but is it for cold victuals or money?"

The beggar looked down at the little lad, and a smile, half of pity,
half of amusement, lit up his grave features for a moment. "I have
come to beg," he said slowly, "that you will receive from me, not that
you will give to me."

Lionel's eyes widened with amazement. "That I will receive from you?"
he repeated slowly. "Then you are n't a beggar at all?"

"Most assuredly I am," responded the old man, promptly. "Do I not beg
of you? What is a beggar? 'One who begs or entreats earnestly or with
humility; a petitioner.' That is how your dictionary has it. It does
n't say for what he begs or entreats. Where I come from things are so
different,--there it is a mark of distinction, I can assure you, to be
a beggar. One must have lived such a long life of poverty and
self-sacrifice before one is permitted to beg--to beg others to receive
one's benefits. Ah, yes, there it is so different!"

"Yes, it must be," assented Lionel. "Here beggars are just persons who
go about and ask for cold bits or pennies; and we don't think much of
them at all."

"That is because they are not the right kind of almsfolk, nor you the
right kind of almoners," responded the beggar; and then he repeated:
"Ah, yes, there it is so different!"

"Where?" inquired Lionel. "Won't you tell me about it?"