"To the left," answered Mr. Maidstone. "Ask your way as you go."

Clare forgot that he had heard only the lady's name. Her address was
on the parcel, no doubt, but if he dropped it to look, he could not
get it up again by himself. A little way on, therefore, meeting a boy
about his own age returning from school, he asked him to be kind
enough to read the address on his back and direct him. The boy read it
aloud, but gave him false instructions for finding the place. Clare
walked and walked until the weight became almost unendurable, and at
last, though loath, concluded that the boy must have deceived him. He
asked again, but this time of a lady. She took pains not only to tell
him right, but to make him understand right: she was pleased with the
tired gentle face that looked up from beneath the heavy
burden. Perhaps she thought of the proud souls growing pure of their
pride, in Dante's _Purgatorio_. Following her directions, he needed no
further questioning to find the house. But it was hours after the
burden was gone from his shoulder before it was rid of the phantom of
its weight.

His master rated him for having been so long, and would not permit him
to explain his delay, ordering him to hold his tongue and not answer
back; but the rest of his day's work was lighter; there was no other
heavy parcel to send out. There were so many smaller ones, however,
that, by the time they were all delivered, he had gained something
more than a general idea of how the streets lay, and was a weary wight
when, with the four-pence his master hesitated to give him on the
ground that he was doubtful of his character, he set out at last,
walking soberly enough now, to spend it at Mr. Ball's and the
milk-shop. Of the former he bought a stale three-penny loaf, and the