1864 Miss Mulock married George Lillie Craik, and until her
     death, on October 12, 1887, she actively engaged herself in
     literary work.  In all, forty-six works stand to her credit,
     but none show unusual literary power.  Even “John Halifax”
     leaves much to be desired, and its great popularity arises,
     perhaps, from its sentimental interest.  The character of the
     hero, conceived on the most conventional lines, has at least
     the charm that comes from the contemplation of a strong and
     upright man, and although many better stories have not enjoyed
     one tithe of its popularity, “John Halifax, Gentleman” still
     deserves to be read as a wholesome and profitable story.

I.—­The Tanner’s Apprentice

“Get out o’ Mr. Fletcher’s road, you idle, lounging, little——­”

“Vagabond” was no doubt what Sally Watkins, the old nurse of Phineas Fletcher, was going to say, but she had changed her mind in looking again at the lad, who, ragged and miserable as he was, was anything but a “vagabond.”

On their way home a downpour of rain had drawn Mr. Fletcher and his son Phineas to shelter in the covered alley that led to Sally’s house.  Mr. Fletcher pushed the little hand-carriage in which his weak and ailing son was seated into the alley.  The ragged boy, who had also been sheltering there, lent a hand in bringing Phineas out of the rain, Mr. Fletcher saying to him kindly, after Sally’s outburst, “Thee need not go into the wet.  Keep close to the wall, and there will be shelter enough both for us and thee.”

Mr. Fletcher was a wealthy tanner in Norton Bury.  Years ago his wife had died, leaving him with their only child, Phineas, now a sickly boy of sixteen.

The ragged lad, who had seemed very grateful for the Quaker’s kind words to him, stood leaning idly against the wall, looking at the rain that splashed on the pavement of the High Street.  He was a boy perhaps of fourteen years; but, despite his serious and haggard face, he was tall and strongly built, with muscular limbs and square, broad shoulders, so that he looked seventeen or more.  The puny boy in the hand-carriage was filled with admiration for the manly bearing of the poor lad.

The rain at length gave promise of ceasing, and Mr. Fletcher, pulling out his great silver watch, never known to be wrong, said, “Twenty-three minutes lost by this shower.  Phineas, my son, how am I to get thee home?  Unless thee wilt go with me to the tanyard—­”

Phineas shook his head, and his father then called to Sally Watkins if she knew of anyone who would wheel him home.  But at the moment Sally did not hear, and the ragged boy mustered courage to speak for the first time?”

“Sir, I want work; may I earn a penny?” he said, taking off his tattered old cap and looking straight into Mr. Fletcher’s face.  The old man scanned the honest face of the lad very closely.