"All right, ma'am," he said again. "'Twas a mistake. Mistakes will happen," and he dropped the silver piece back into her hand.

"Take the halfpenny at least, my boy," said she. "It was very good, very good indeed of you to tell me of my mistake. If it was money I could spare on myself--but--it is my rule to give this once a month at church, and--I could not make it up again."

"All right, ma'am," Billy repeated for the third time, anxious to be off before the old lady could hear the choke of disappointment in his voice.

(It was just then I pa.s.sed them.)

"But I'll tell you what I'll do," she went on, brightening up. "I'll pay you the shilling in halfpence, every week. I'm sure I can manage that.

So you look out for me each Sunday morning, and I'll have it ready," and off she trotted, quite happy at having thus settled the difficulty. "I shouldn't feel _honest_" she said to herself, "if I didn't make it up to him after really _giving_ it to him. And a halfpenny a week even I can manage extra."

For of course Billy's halfpenny was not to interfere with her regular Sunday morning's dole to the first crossing-sweeper she met.

I think she was right. I am sure that the halfpennies he received so regularly till what she thought her debt to him was paid, helped to make and keep Billy Harding as honest as a man as he had been as a child.

The next winter saw no little old lady trotting along to church in the cold. She went away for her treat of the year--a fortnight in the country; but she fell ill the very day she came back, and never was able to go out again. It fell to my share--she asked me to do it--to tell the little crossing-sweeper when she died, and to give him a small present she had left him. He rubbed his sleeve across his eyes--he didn't want me to see he was crying.

"'Twill seem quite strange-like never to see her no more," he said. "I were just beginning to wonder when she'd be back. Twenty-four Sundays and she never missed, wet or dry! I'd have liked her to know I goes too, reg'lar, to church in the afternoons as she wanted me to."

And for his own sake, as well as for the dear old lady's, I never lost sight of poor Billy from that time.

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A

FRIEND IN NEED

Laurence was a little English boy, though he lived in Paris. He had several older brothers and sisters, but none near him in age. So he was often rather lonely, for he was only six years old, and too young to do many lessons. Half-an-hour in the morning and half-an-hour in the afternoon made up his school time, though of course his next brother and sister, who were twelve and thirteen years old, had to do a great deal more than that.

I daresay they would not have minded doing a little _less_. I know they were always very pleased to have a holiday, or even a half-holiday, and in the evenings when their lessons were done they were very kind and ready to play with their little brother.

Laurence had a German nursery-maid. She was a good girl, but not very lively or quick, and she could not speak either French or English. When she first came to take care of Laurence he only knew a very few words of German, so you can imagine that his walks with Emma, as she was called, were not very amusing. But after a while Laurence got on with his German, much faster than Emma did with either French or English, which of course was as it should be, seeing that she had come on purpose to teach him her language. And then he and his nurse became very good friends in a quiet way. For he was rather an unusually quiet little boy, and he thought a great deal more than he spoke.

Still he _did_ sometimes wish he had a brother or sister near his own age. It did not seem quite fair that he should be so alone in the family. Hugh and Isabel were such nice friends for each other, and so were the two still older sisters and the big brother of all, who was called Robert. Now and then when little Laurence was trotting along the street by Emma's side he would look with envy at other children, two and three together, and wish that one of them "belonged" to him.

But there were others alone, even more alone than he was. This he found out before long. At the corner of the "Avenue" where he lived, there was a large house opening into a court-yard, like all large houses in Paris, and just inside this court-yard Laurence often saw a little girl not much bigger than he was, always playing about by herself. She was the daughter of the "_concierge_," or porter, who took care of the big house, and though she was neat and tidy she was not at all a rich little girl. For though the house was a big one, it was not lived in by rich people, and the _concierge_ and his wife and little girl had only two small rooms for their home.

Laurence did not know the little girl's name, but in his own fancy he called her "Gay." She always looked so bright and happy. And after a while the two children began to smile at each other as if they were friends, and sometimes Gay would call out, "Good morning, Sir. What a nice day!" or some little speech like that, to which Laurence would reply, "Good morning, Miss," like a little gentleman, lifting his cap as he spoke. Of course these remarks were made in French. In English they do sound rather odd, I must allow.

One day Laurence and Emma set off for rather a long walk. It was the day before Isabel's birthday, and he wanted to buy a present for her at one of the very large shops. He was not sure what the present was to be, but he _thought_ that he would choose a pincushion, as he had seen some very pretty little fancy chairs and sofas not long ago at this same big shop, which Emma told him were pincushions. He knew exactly what part of the shop to go to, and he had his money--a whole franc--that is about tenpence of English money, in his little purse safe in his pocket.

They reached the shop without any adventure or misadventure, and soon Laurence, holding the maid's hand, was walking slowly past the counters or tables where lots of tempting pretty things were displayed. It was some time before they found the particular table where the fairy-like furniture was laid out. But at last Laurence gave a little cry of joy.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

"There they are, Emma," he said in German, "the dear little armchairs and sofas and ottomans--blue and rose and white, and all with gold backs and legs. Now which would Isabel like?"

It was a great question, but at last they decided on a rose-coloured arm-chair. The price he was sure was all right, as Emma had seen that the things were all marked one franc. But alas, when the shopman gave Laurence the little paper bill, and the boy as proud as possible went to the desk where it was to be paid, the clerk held out his hand,--

[Ill.u.s.tration]

"Five centimes more, if you please--one sou."

A sou is about the same as an English halfpenny, and it is often called a "five centime piece"--for there are ten centimes in each _two_-sous piece, just as there are four farthings in one English penny.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

"Another sou?" said Laurence. "But I have not got one. Emma, have you got one?"

Emma had nothing at all in her pocket. It was stupid of her, but she had not thought of bringing her purse. However it was so little, and she began asking the clerk in her very bad French, mixed with German words, to let the little gentleman have the pincushion for a franc.

The clerk shook his head.

"At least," said poor Laurence, "let me have it now and I will bring the sou to-morrow, or my mamma will send it."

Again the man shook his head. Perhaps he was in a bad temper, perhaps he did not feel the more good-natured because he may have thought the boy and his nurse were German. For at that time the French nation did not love Germans. Let us hope they have learnt better since.

"Pa.s.s on, sir," he said sharply, "you are blocking the way," and the people standing round began to laugh. The tears rose to the little boy's eyes.

"Oh! what shall I do?" he cried, "and to-morrow is Isabel's birthday."

Then came a little voice beside him.

"Sir--may I offer it? Will you accept this sou from me?" and a small hand held out the coin. It was little Gay.

"Oh thank you, thank you," exclaimed Laurence joyfully, and the grim clerk received the sou and the parcel was handed to him.

How he thanked the kind little girl! She was there with her mother, and while the good woman was choosing an umbrella at a stand close by, Gay, as I must still call her, had noticed her little friend and wondered what he was in difficulty about. And of all the people near him in the shop, she alone had the kind thought of offering him the sou.

I need not tell you that after this the good little girl was looked upon by Laurence as quite a friend. He went with Emma the next morning to pay back the five centime piece, and when New Year's Day came, a pretty present for Gabrielle, which was her real name, was one of the gifts which Laurence and his mother had the greatest pleasure in choosing.

Was it not nice that the little girl was called "Gabrielle," for Laurence was able to go on calling her "Gay," as it made such a good short name for the real one.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

PANSY'S PANSY.

THE FLOWER MARKET

PART I.