The beggar looked down at the little lad, and a smile, half of pity, half of amusement, lit up his grave features for a moment.  “I have come to beg,” he said slowly, “that you will receive from me, not that you will give to me.”

Lionel’s eyes widened with amazement.  “That I will receive from you?” he repeated slowly.  “Then you are n’t a beggar at all?”

“Most assuredly I am,” responded the old man, promptly.  “Do I not beg of you?  What is a beggar?  ’One who begs or entreats earnestly or with humility; a petitioner.’  That is how your dictionary has it.  It does n’t say for what he begs or entreats.  Where I come from things are so different,—­there it is a mark of distinction, I can assure you, to be a beggar.  One must have lived such a long life of poverty and self-sacrifice before one is permitted to beg—­to beg others to receive one’s benefits.  Ah, yes, there it is so different!”

“Yes, it must be,” assented Lionel.  “Here beggars are just persons who go about and ask for cold bits or pennies; and we don’t think much of them at all.”

“That is because they are not the right kind of almsfolk, nor you the right kind of almoners,” responded the beggar; and then he repeated:  “Ah, yes, there it is so different!”

“Where?” inquired Lionel.  “Won’t you tell me about it?”

“Dear child,” replied the beggar, gently, “it can’t be described.  It must be seen to be appreciated.  If you once entered into that estate, you would never wish to return to this.”

“Is it as nice as all that?” questioned Lionel, eagerly.  “Guess I ’ll go, then.  Will you take me ?” he asked.

The beggar smiled down at him kindly.  “I can’t take you, dear boy,” he said.  “I have to travel on.  But I can set you on the road, and you will reach there in safety if you follow my directions.”

Lionel waited breathlessly for the beggar to continue; but the man almost seemed to have forgotten his existence, for he was gazing dreamily over his head into the darkness of the hallway, apparently seeing nothing but what was in his own mind’s eye.

“Well?” asked Lionel, a little impatiently.  “You were going to give me the directions, you know.”

“Oh, yes!” returned the beggar, with a slight start.  “Well, the directions are:  Always turn to the right!”

Lionel considered a moment, and then he said:  “But if I always turn to the right I should n’t get anywhere at all.  I ’d be only going round and round.”

“No, no!” replied the beggar, hastily; “you must always go square, you know.  And you ’ll find you ’ll get along beautifully if you always keep to the right.”

“But s’pose,” suggested Lionel, “I come to a place where the road is to the left,—­some of the roads might be not to the right,—­some might go quite the other way.”

“Yes,” assented the beggar, wistfully.  “They all go the other way,—­that is, they seem to go the other way.  But when they seem to go to the wrong and you don’t see any that go to the right, just keep as near to the right as you can, and by and by you ’ll see one and it will be lovely.  But if you turn down to the wrong, you run a chance of losing your way entirely.  It is always so much harder to go back.”