But I never could do it when I came before him. I seemed to feel
that he would refuse me, and I felt somehow too proud to ask a
favour that would most likely be refused. But it shall be done now,
mother; I will not be a burthen upon you, if I can help it. I'd
sooner do anything than that. He _ought_ to do something for me, and
there's no one else that I know of that can. I will speak to him on
Monday."

Monday evening was come; all day Stephen had been screwing up his
courage for the task he had to do; of course it could not be done
when his master and he were in the shop together, for there they
were liable at any moment to be interrupted. At dinner-time they
separated; for they took the meal alternately, that the post in the
shop might never be deserted. But now the day's work was over:
everything was put away, and master and apprentice had retired into
the little back parlour a to take their tea. As usual, they were
alone, for the stationer was a single man (which might account for
the sourness of his temper), and the meal was usually taken in
silence, and soon after it was over they would both retire to bed,
still in silence. Stephen's master had poured out for him his first
cup of tea, handed it to him without looking at him, and begun to
swallow his own potion. Stephen allowed his cup to remain before him
untouched; he glanced timidly towards his master, drew a deep
breath, coloured slightly, and then began:--

"If you please, sir, I wish to speak to you."

His master looked up with a sudden jerk of the head, and fixed his
keen gray eyes on poor Stephen's face. He did not seem at all
surprised, but said sharply (and he had a very sharp voice), "Well,