“It ’ud do first-rate for me,” he said at last, “and I’d try my best to help in the garden; but I couldn’t never leave Mr. Oliver and the little girl.  She’d fret ever so; and he’s gone so forgetful he’d lose his own head, if he could anyhow.  Why! of a morning they sell him any papers as they’ve too many of.  Sometimes it’s all the ‘Star,’ and sometimes it’s all the ‘Standard;’ and them as buys one won’t have the other.  I don’t know why, I’m sure.  But you see when I go for ’em I say twenty-five this, and thirteen that, and I count ’em over pretty sharp, I can tell you; though I couldn’t read at all afore I came here, but I could tell which was which easy enough.  Then he’d never think to open his shop some mornings; and other mornings he’d open at four or five o’clock, just when he woke of hisself.  No.  I must stay and take care of ’em a bit; but thank you, sir, all the same.”

He had spoken so gravely and thoughtfully that his reasons went directly to the heart of Mr. Ross; but he asked him one more question, before he could let his good plan for the boy drop.

“What has he done for you, Antony?  Is he any relation of yours?”

“No, no!” cried Tony, his eyes growing bright, “I haven’t got any relation in all the world; but he took me in out of love, and let me sleep comfortable under the counter, instead of in the streets.  I love him, and Dolly, I do.  I’ll stay by ’em as long as ever I live, if I have to sweep a crossing till I’m an old man like him.  Besides, I hear him speak a good word for me often and often to his Master; and I s’pose nobody else ’ud do that.”

“What master?” inquired Mr. Ross.

“Him,” answered Tony, pointing to a picture of the Saviour blessing young children, “he’s always talking to him as if he could see him, and he tells him everythink.  No, it ’ud be better for me to stay with him and Dolly, and keep hard by my crossing, than go away from ’em, and have clothes, and lodging, and schooling for nothink.”

“I think it would,” said Mr. Ross, “so you must go on as you are, Antony, till I can find you something better than a crossing.  You are looking very well, my boy; that’s a nice, warm suit of clothes you have on, better than the rags you came in by a long way.”

It was a sailor’s suit, sent to the hospital by some mother, whose boy had perhaps outgrown it; or, it may be, whose boy had been taken away from all her tender care for him.  It was of good, rough, thick blue cloth, and fitted Tony well.  He had grown a good deal during his illness, and his face had become whiter and more refined; his hair, too, was cut to a proper length, and parted down the side, no longer lying about his head in a tangled mass.  He coloured up with pleasure as Mr. Ross looked approvingly at him.

“They’ve lent it me till I go out,” he said, with a tone slightly regretful in his voice, “I only wish Dolly could have seen me in it, and her aunt Charlotte.  My own things were too ragged for me to wear ’em in a place like this.”