“I remember mother gave me a treat instead,” said Benjamin with a comic grimace.  “She took me round to Zachariah Square and let me play there while she was scrubbing Malka’s floor.  I think Milly gave me a penny, and I remember Leah let me take a couple of licks from a glass of ice cream she was eating on the Ruins.  It was a hot day—­I shall never forget that ice cream.  But fancy parents pawning a chap’s only decent coat.”  He smoothed his well-brushed jacket complacently.

“Yes, but don’t you remember mother took it out the very next morning before school with the money she earnt at Malka’s.”

“But what was the use of that?  I put it on of course when I went to school and told the teacher I was ill the day before, just to show the boys I was telling the truth.  But it was too late to take me to the Palace.”

“Ah, but it came in handy—­don’t you remember, Benjy, how one of the Great Ladies died suddenly the next week!”

“Oh yes!  Yoicks!  Tallyho!” cried Benjamin, with sudden excitement.  “We went down on hired omnibuses to the cemetery ever so far into the country, six of the best boys in each class, and I was on the box seat next to the driver, and I thought of the old mail-coach days and looked out for highwaymen.  We stood along the path in the cemetery and the sun was shining and the grass was so green and there were such lovely flowers on the coffin when it came past with the gentlemen crying behind it and then we had lemonade and cakes on the way back.  Oh, it was just beautiful!  I went to two other funerals after that, but that was the one I enjoyed most.  Yes, that coat did come in useful after all for a day in the country.”

Benjamin evidently did not think of his own mother’s interment as a funeral.  Esther did and she changed the subject quickly.

“Well, tell me more about your place.”

“Well, it’s like going to funerals every day.  It’s all country all round about, with trees and flowers and birds.  Why, I’ve helped to make hay in the autumn.”

Esther drew a sigh of ecstasy.  “It’s like a book,” she said.

“Books!” he said.  “We’ve got hundreds and hundreds, a whole library—­Dickens, Mayne Reid, George Eliot, Captain Marryat, Thackeray—­I’ve read them all.”

“Oh, Benjy!” said Esther, clasping her hands in admiration, both of the library and her brother.  “I wish I were you.”

“Well, you could be me easily enough.”

“How?” said Esther, eagerly.

“Why, we have a girls’ department, too.  You’re an orphan as much as me.  You get father to enter you as a candidate.”

“Oh, how could I, Benjy?” said Esther, her face falling.  “What would become of Solomon and Ikey and little Sarah?”

“They’ve got a father, haven’t they? and a grandmother?”

“Father can’t do washing and cooking, you silly boy!  And grandmother’s too old.”

“Well, I call it a beastly shame.  Why can’t father earn a living and give out the washing?  He never has a penny to bless himself with.”