"If I had anything about me I could sell to get him bread!" thought
Nello; but he had nothing except the wisp of linen and serge that
covered him, and his pair of wooden shoes.

Patrasche understood, and nestled his nose into the lad's hand as though
to pray him not to be disquieted for any woe or want of his.

The winner of the drawing prize was to be proclaimed at noon, and to the
public building where he had left his treasure Nello made his way. On
the steps and in the entrance-hall there was a crowd of youths,--some of
his age, some older, all with parents or relatives or friends. His heart
was sick with fear as he went among them holding Patrasche close to him.
The great bells of the city clashed out the hour of noon with brazen
clamour. The doors of the inner hall were opened; the eager, panting
throng rushed in. It was known that the selected picture would be raised
above the rest upon a wooden dais.

A mist obscured Nello's sight, his head swam, his limbs almost failed
him. When his vision cleared he saw the drawing raised on high; it was
not his own! A slow, sonorous voice was proclaiming aloud that victory
had been adjudged to Stephen Kiesslinger, born in the burg of Antwerp,
son of a wharfinger in that town.

When Nello recovered his consciousness he was lying on the stones
without, and Patrasche was trying with every art he knew to call him
back to life. In the distance a throng of the youths of Antwerp were
shouting around their successful comrade, and escorting him with
acclamations to his home upon the quay.

The boy staggered to his feet and drew the dog into his embrace. "It is