Valentine, King & Co., cotton importers, Liverpool, as a
"pair of legs." My father had died suddenly, leaving me and
his property in the possession of my stepmother and my
guardian. It was in deference to their urgent advice that I
left my home in London (with little reluctance, since my
life there had never been happy) to study the art of
money-making. On arriving at the scene of my expected
triumphs I was assigned to the somewhat humble position of
errand boy. In common with other boys who performed a like
service for the firm I was known as "a pair of legs."
Lodgings of a rather modest character had been secured for
me in the western outskirts of the city near the banks of
the Mersey. I was slow to make friends, and my evenings were
spent in the perusal of some story books, which I had
brought with me from London. One night, not long after the
beginning of my new life in Liverpool, I was lying in bed
listening to the wind and rain beating over the housetops
and driving against the windows, when suddenly there came a
loud rap at my door.

"Who's there?" I demanded, starting out of bed.

As I heard no answer, I repeated my inquiry and stood a
moment listening. I could hear nothing, however, but the
wind and rain. Lighting a candle and dressing myself with
all haste, I opened the door. I could just discern the
figure of a bent old man standing in the hallway, when a
gust of wind suddenly put out the candle. The door leading
to the street was open, and the old man was probably a
straggler come to importune me for shelter or for something