Arch pressed the dirty little hands that fluttered about him—­for, next to his mother, he loved Mat.

“I will go out now and call somebody,” she said; “there Mrs. Hill and Peggy Sullivan, if she ain’t drunk.  Either of them will come!” And a few moments later the room was filled with the rude neighbors.

They did not think it necessary to call a coroner.  She had been ailing for a long time.  Heart complaint, the physician said—­and she had probably died in one of those spasms to which she was subject.  So they robed her for the grave, and when all was done, Arch stole in and laid the pinks and roses on her breast.

“Oh, mother! mother!” he said, bending over her, in agony, “she sent them to you, and you shall have them!  I thought they would make you so happy!  Well, maybe they will now!  Who can tell?”

The funeral was a very poor one.  A kind city missionary prayed over the remains, and the hearse was followed to Potter’s Field only by Mat and Arch—­ragged and tattered, but sincere mourners.

When they came back Mat took Arch’s hand and led him into the wretched den she called home.

“You shall stay here, Arch, with Grandma Rugg and me.  She said you might if you’d be a good boy, and not plague the cat.  Grandma’s a rough one, but she ain’t kicked me since I tore her cap off.  I’m too big to be kicked now.  Sit down, Arch; you know you can’t stay at home now.”

Yes, to be sure he could not stay there any longer.  No one knew that any better than Arch.  The landlord had warned him out that very morning.  A half-quarter’s rent was still due, and the meagre furniture would barely suffice to satisfy his claim.  Hitherto, Mrs. Trevlyn had managed to pay her expenses, but, now that she was gone, Arch knew that it was more than folly to think of renting a room.  But he could not suppress a cry of pain when they came to take away the things; and when they laid their rude hands on the chair in which his mother died, poor Arch could endure no more, but fled out into the street, and wandered about till hunger and weariness forced him back to the old haunt.

He accepted the hospitality of Grandma Rugg, and made his home with her and Mat.  The influences which surrounded him were not calculated to develop good principles, and Arch grew rude and boisterous, like the other street boys.  He heard the vilest language—­oaths were the rule rather than the exception in Grigg Court, as the place was called—­and gambling, and drunkenness, and licentiousness abounded.  Still, it was singular how much evil Arch shunned.

But there was growing within him a principle of bitter hatred, which one day might embitter his whole existence.  Perhaps he had cause for it; he thought he had, and cherished it with jealous care, lest it should be annihilated as the years went on.

From his mother’s private papers he had learned much of her history that he had before been ignorant of.  She had never spoken to him very freely of the past.  She knew how proud and high his temper was, and acted with wisdom in burying the story of her wrongs in her own breast.