All day long the voice of London throbbed up beyond the bars, and George would regard the chimneys and the housetops and the section of lively street that fell within his range with his small, keen eyes, and wonder why the world did not forthwith crumble into silent, peaceful dust, instead of groaning and quivering in continual unrest.  But when twilight fell and the children were tired of playing, they would gather round him in his corner by the tank and ask him to tell them stories.  This tank was large and open and held rain water for the use of the tenants, and originally it had been cut off from the rest of the roof by some special railings of its own; but two of the railings had been broken, and now the children could creep through and sit round the tank at dusk, like Eastern villagers round the village well.

And George would tell them stories—­queer stories with twisted faces and broken backs, that danced and capered merrily enough as a rule, but sometimes stood quite still and made horrible grimaces.  The children liked the cheerful moral stories better, such as Arthur’s Boots.

“Once upon a time,” George would begin, “there was a boy called Arthur, who lived in a house like this, and always tied his bootlaces with knots instead of bows.  One night he stood on the roof and wished he had wings like a sparrow, so that he could fly away over the houses.  And a great wind began, so that everybody said there was a storm, and suddenly Arthur found he had a little pair of wings, and he flew away with the wind over the houses.  And presently he got beyond the storm to a quiet place in the sky, and Arthur looked up and saw all the stars tied to heaven with little bits of string, and all the strings were tied in bows.  And this was done so that God could pull the string quite easily when He wanted to, and let the stars fall.  On fine nights you can see them dropping.  Arthur thought that the angels must have very neat fingers to tie so many bows, but suddenly, while he was looking, his feet began to feel heavy, and he stooped down to take off his boots; but he could not untie the knots quick enough, and soon he started falling very fast.  And while he was falling, he heard the wind in the telegraph wires, and the shouts of the boys who sell papers in the street, and then he fell on the top of a house.  And they took him to the hospital, and cut off his legs, and gave him wooden ones instead.  But he could not fly any more because they were too heavy.”

For days afterwards all the children would tie their bootlaces in bows.

Sometimes they would all look into the dark tank, and George would tell them about the splendid fish that lived in its depths.  If the tank was only half full, he would whisper to the fish, and the children would hear its indistinct reply.  But when the tank was full to the brim, he said that the fish was too happy to talk, and he would describe the beauty of its appearance so vividly that all the children would lean over the tank and strain their eyes in a desperate effort to see the wonderful fish.  But no one ever saw it clearly except George, though most of the children thought they had seen its tail disappearing in the shadows at one time or another.