About half way up the court, however, a further stoppage occurred.

This was occasioned by the appearance of another stranger in the court besides ourselves--a clergyman, who, with a small but offence-less crowd at his heels, was making a grand tour of the various houses and flats.

He was a tall, kindly-looking man, with hair just turning white, who looked like a man who did not spare himself or live for himself. He had a pleasant word for everybody, however unpleasant and unpromising they might seem, and bore all the remarks and jests of unfriendly loafers with great good-humour and composure.

The sight of him in the midst of our difficulties was most welcome. We quickened our steps to meet him. The knot of roughs who were following us looked on this as a rout, and set up a yell of defiance. Others, seeing us walking rapidly away, joined in the demonstration, and one or two, not content with following us with their voices, followed us with stones.

Just as we came up to the clergyman a stone intended for one of us whizzed past my ear, and struck him on the cheek. He never moved a muscle, or even looked to see where it came from, but walked on to meet us.

"Oh! sir," said Jack, stepping forward, "we're so glad to meet you.

We're looking for a little boy called Billy, who lives in this court, who generally comes to our ragged school, but wasn't there this evening.

He's a s...o...b..ack. Do you know where he lives?"

"I wish I could tell you," said the clergyman, "but this is my first visit here. Where is your school?"

"Oh, it's not properly a school, but Billy and sometimes one or two others come to our lodgings, and learn to write and read. He has never missed before. That's what makes me fear something is wrong."

At that moment the object of our search stood before us, with his usual grin wider than ever.

"What cheer, blokes?" was his greeting. "Oh, 'ere, governor, I reckon you're a-goin' to turn me up 'cos I wasn't at the racket school. But my old gal, she's a-missin'. She's always a-skylarkin' somewheres, she is, and I was a-lookin' for her."

"Have you found her?" asked Jack, whose pleasure at finding his young _protege_ was unconcealed.

"Found 'er! No; but I knows where she is."

"Where?"

"In the station, for smashin' winders. Ain't she a wonner?"

"My poor boy!" said the clergyman, sympathisingly.

"Ga on! I ain't your boy. Don't know yer; I'm this 'ere bloke's chap, and I ain't a-goin' to be larned by no one else."

It was impossible to avoid smiling at this frank declaration, seriously as it was uttered.

"When did your mother get into trouble?" asked Jack.

"This very afternoon, bless 'er old 'art. She was on the fly all yesterday, a-goin' on any'ow. So I comes round afore the racket school, to see if she was a-coolin' down, and, there! if she 'adn't hooked it!

I 'as a good look up and down the court, but she'd walked. So I cuts to the nighest station, and sees a pal o' mine outside. `It's all right,'

says he; `she's in there,' meaning the lock-up. `Wot was she up to?'

says I. `Winders agin,' he says. So she's all safe, she is."

"I tell you what it is, Billy," said Smith. "I'm afraid you let her spend the money you get for blacking boots on drink. That's what gets her into trouble."

"That ain't no concern of yourn," said Billy. Then, suddenly correcting himself, he added, "Leastways it ain't no concern of these here two blokes. Mister, I say, governor, is it too late for to learn me to- night?"

"Yes, it's too late to-night; but we'll have the school to-morrow instead. Where will you live while your mother's away?"

"Oh, ain't you funny!" said the boy, with a grin. "As if a chap liked me lived anywheres!"

"Well," said Jack, taking my arm, and not desirous to prolong the discussion, "mind you turn up to-morrow, Billy."

"No fears," cried Billy, with a grin, accompanying us for a step or two, walking on his hands.

"That's a most extraordinary lad," said the clergyman.

"There's a lot of good in him," responded Smith.

"And you are doing your best to bring it out," said the clergyman.

"Which way are you going?" said he, when presently with no further adventure we had got through the court.

"To Drury Lane," said I.

"Ah, down this street. That's my way too. Will you just come into my house and have a bit of supper?"

Jack never liked accepting invitations, but there was something so friendly and simple-minded about this clergyman that it would almost have seemed rude to say no.

"This is quite a new part of the town to me," said he, as we walked along. "I suppose you know it well?"

"Yes," said I, "we lived close here for some months."

"I wished you lived here still," he said. "I want workers of your sort in my new parish."

He insisted on including _me_ in his compliments, not knowing how little I deserved them.

"My walk this evening," said he, "is really the first serious voyage of discovery I have made in my parish, and the result is not very encouraging. It seems a very low neighbourhood, worse a good deal than I expected. However, there will be all the more to do."

There was something so modest and yet so resolute in the way he spoke that we both liked him.

His house, a dull-looking City rectory, was at the end of the street, and here we halted.

"We're rather in a state of confusion here," said he, as he rang the bell, "we only moved in this week. So you must take us as you find us."

We entered, and were ushered into a pleasant parlour, which appeared to be the only completely furnished room at present.

"Is Mr Edward at home?" asked our host of the servant.

"Yes, sir, he's upstairs."

"Ask him to come down," said he, "and bring in supper."

He explained to us that Edward was his son, whom he would like us to know.

"I'm often sorry for him," said the father; "he has no mother, and I am too much occupied to be much with him. I wish he had some _good_ friends in London."

He emphasised the word "good," as much as to say that some of his son's friends were not very desirable.

The servant brought in supper, and said that Master Edward would be down presently.