knew him. His face was as the face of an angel, and none the less
beautiful that it shone above ragged garments. But Mr. Maidstone, the
moment he saw him, and before he had time to recognize him, turned
from the boy with dislike.

"What a fool the beggar looks!" he said to himself;--then aloud to one
of the young men, "Hand over that parcel of sheets.--Here,
you!--what's your name?"

"Clare, sir."

"I declare against it!" he rejoined, with a coarse laugh of pleasure
at his own fancied wit. "I shall call you Jack!"

"Very well, sir!"

"Don't you talk.--Here, Jack, take this parcel to Mrs.
Trueman's. You'll see the address on it.--And look sharp.--You can
read, can't you?"

The people in the shop stood looking on, some pitifully, all
curiously, for the parcel was of considerable size, and linen is
heavy, while the boy looked pale and thin. But Clare was strong for
his age, and present joy made up for past want. He scarcely looked at
the parcel which the draper proceeded to lay on his shoulder, stooped
a little as he felt its weight, heaved it a little to adjust its
balance, and holding it in its place with one hand, started for the
door, which the master himself held open for him.

"Please, sir, which way do I turn?" he asked.