With feelings of terror not to be described, our poor hero saw the black fluid streaming over the beautiful shoes; and after having stood for a moment as if paralyzed, he plunged his hand into the filthy pool and drew them out.

He might have served as a study for a painter as he stood surveying the consequences of the mishap; his countenance expressed almost every emotion of the human mind, as he held up the shoes and tried to wipe away the black mud which dyed them, until at length, finding all his efforts ineffectual, he burst into a fit of passionate weeping.

Do not think his tears were puerile; his spirit was naturally strong, but he was only a child, and his bodily frame weak from want of nourishing food.

Bitter was his grief; and altogether at a loss how to proceed, for a moment he was tempted to resolve never again to face his unkind guardian, and seek another home, no matter where; he believed he could not be worse off.  But those early teachings drawn from the Scripture rules, which had been so prayerfully impressed upon his plastic mind in the little cottage at M——­, now came back upon his heart; the remembrance of his parents came vividly before him, and he determined to act as they would have advised—­namely, openly and according to the truth; he would be upright, let the consequences be to himself what they might.

Providence, however, that so kindly watches over all who put their trust in him, and suffers none to be tempted beyond what they can bear, had raised up a friend to help in this hour of need.

Attracted by the beauty of the sunset, an old gentleman of most reverential aspect was looking from the window of one of the handsomest houses in the square, but was not so lost in contemplation of the clouds that he had not observed poor William and pitied his misfortune.

“Did your father send you with these shoes, boy?” said he; “why do you cry so bitterly about the misfortune which cannot be helped?”

“Dear sir,” replied William, as he raised up the ruined shoes, from which the muddy water was still dripping, “I have no father nor mother now; my master will be very angry and beat me.  I am sure I could not help it;” and a fresh flood of tears proved his grief for the disaster.

“How much did he tell you to ask for the shoes?” inquired the old gentleman.

The boy named the amount, at the same time wiping the shoes with the corner of his blue blouse.

“Here, boy, give this to your master to pay him for the shoes,” said the gentleman, throwing him some money from the window; “and here is a shilling for yourself; I think you are an honest boy, so keep that to indemnify you for your fright.”

William was amazed, but before he had time to thank the kind stranger, he had turned away, and the vacated place was filled by a different-looking object.  A little, mirthful-looking, fair-haired girl, about seven years old, carrying a doll nearly as large as herself in her arms, looked from the window, and seeing our poor hero, burst into a loud fit of laughter, for which he could not account.  Although anxious to know the cause, he was too bashful to ask the reason, and as she retreated almost immediately, he, after waiting a few minutes in hopes the gentleman would re-appear, was compelled to retrace the way which led to his cheerless home.