nothing to do, I have nothing to eat. It's well I haven't work now,
though," added Clare with a sigh, "for I'm too tired to do any. Please
may I sit on this heap of ashes?"

"Sit where you like, so long 's you keep out o' my way. I 'ain't got
nothing to give you but a bar of iron. I'll toast one for you if you
would like a bite."

"No, thank you, sir," answered Clare, with a smile. "I'm afraid it
wouldn't be digestible. They say toasted cheese ain't. I wish I had a
try though!"

"You're a comical shaver, you are!" said the blacksmith. "You'll come
to the gallows yet, if you're a good boy! Them Sunday-schools is doin'
a heap for the gallows!--That ain't your brother?"

By this time Tommy had begun to feel at home with the blacksmith, from
whose face the cloud had lifted a little, so that he looked less
dangerous. He had edged nearer to the fire, and now stood in the light
of it.

"No," answered Clare, with an odd doubtfulness in his tone. "I ought
to say _yes_, perhaps, for all men are my brothers; but I mean I
haven't any particular one of my very own."

"That ain't no pity; he'd ha' been no better than you. I've a brother
I would choke any minute I got a chance."

While they talked, the blacksmith had put his iron in the fire, and
again stood blowing the bellows, when his attention was caught by the