resolved to act differently in future.  “But, indeed, I would have liked to thank that good old gentleman,” said he to himself; “although I was none the better for the money.  It is a pity he does not know that Mr. Walters took it all; but I will try not to think any more about it.  I know now what I will do,” he cried, as a sudden thought struck him; “that little girl with the large doll must be his daughter, so I will make a pair of little shoes for the waxen lady.”

William carried his purpose into execution.  In the evening, when the working hours were over, he gathered up some scraps of red morocco which had been thrown aside as useless, and carried them up to the attic where he slept, so that as soon as daylight appeared he might begin his work.  This he did, and had cut out and nearly half made a pair of doll’s boots before the usual time of going to work.  He could not, however, find any red ribbon with which to bind and tie them; some bits of blue were lying about, and as he had not a penny to purchase that which was suitable, he was obliged to use it.  The next morning saw them finished, and wrapping them up in a small packet, he put it in his pocket, and went to his work quite happy that he had been able to accomplish his task without the knowledge of his master.

The new satin shoes, made in place of those which had fallen into the gutter, were finished and brought in by evening, and although it was almost sundown, and the walk a long one, William was only too happy to be charged with their delivery.  He set forth cheerily, and as he approached the house from whence the money had been thrown him, his heart beat joyfully—­yes, that was the very window where the kind old gentleman stood; and, a better sight than that, the outer door stood open.  It was but the work of a moment to seat himself on the broad marble steps and write on his packet, with a bit of lead pencil, “The shoemaker’s boy returns thanks for the kindness of the other day,” and placed it in a corner of the vestibule, where it could not fail to be noticed.

This done, he set off at his usual rate of speed, and without once looking round to see if he had been observed, he hurried on to the dwelling of the lady for whom the shoes were made.  She was much pleased with them, paid the price, sent a new order to Mr. Walters, and gave him a sixpence for himself.  William, altogether rejoiced at receiving the gift, trifling as it was, resolved in this case to do as Jem Taylor advised; he would not give it to Mr. Walters; and if he asked anything about it, he would say he had received nothing.  “No, I will spend it before I get home,” he said half aloud, and took the direction which led to a baker’s shop, where he would buy and feast upon rolls.

But something more attractive in the shape of a picture shop came before him; rolls and gingerbread were forgotten in the delight he experienced in feasting his eyes on some paintings in the window.  “I really will try to draw that old man and his dog,” said he to himself; “but then I have no paper; ah yes, the sixpence the lady gave me!” and with the welcome recollection he turned away from the tempting sight, purchased some paper and ran home, which he reached in good time.