She turned to the window, and said to Ellen, ’What a wild-looking lad that is on the bridge!’

‘Yes, Miss Jane,’ said Ellen; ’I was quite afraid he would frighten you.’

‘Well, I was surprised,’ said Jane; ’I was afraid he might speak to me; but then I knew I was too near friends for harm to come to me;’ and she laughed at her own fears.  ’How ragged and wretched he looks!  Has he been begging?’

’No, Miss Jane; he came into the shop, and bought some bread.  He paid for it honestly; but I never did see any one so dirty.  And there’s Alfred wishing to be like him.  I knew you would tell him it is quite wicked, Miss Jane.’

It is not right, I suppose, to wish to be anything but what we are,’ said Jane, rather puzzled by the appeal; ’and perhaps that poor beggar-boy would only like to have a nice room, and kind mother and sister, like you, Alfred.’

‘I don’t say anything against them!’ cried the boy vehemently; ’but—­ but—­I’d give anything—­anything in the world—­to be able to run about again in the hay-field!  No, don’t talk to me, Ellen, I say—­I hate them all when I see them there, and I forced to lie here!  I wish the sun would never shine!’

He hid his eyes and ears in the pillow, as if he never wished to see the light again, and would hear nothing.  The two girls both stood trembling.  Ellen looked at Miss Selby, and she felt that she must say something.  But what could she say?

With tears in her eyes she laid hold of Alfred’s thin hand and tried to speak, choked by tears.  ’Dear Alfred, don’t say such dreadful things.  You know we are all so sorry for you; but God sent it.’

Alfred gave a groan of utter distress, as if it were no consolation.

‘And—­and things come to do us good,’ continued Miss Jane, the tears starting to her cheeks.

‘I don’t know what good it can do me to lie here!’ cried Alfred.

‘Oh, but, Alfred, it must.’

‘I tell you,’ exclaimed the poor boy, forgetting his manners, so that Ellen stood dismayed, ’it does not do me good!  I didn’t use to hate Harold, nor to hate everybody.’

‘To hate Harold!’ said Jane faintly.

‘Ay,’ said Alfred, ’when I hear him whooping about like mad, and jumping and leaping, and going on like I used to do, and never shall again.’

The tears came thick and fast, and perhaps they did him good.

‘But, Alfred,’ said Jane, trying to puzzle into the right thing, ’sometimes things are sent to punish us, and then we ought to submit quietly.’

‘I don’t know what I’ve done, then,’ he cried angrily.  ’There have been many worse than I any day, that are well enough now.’

‘Oh, Alfred, it is not who is worse, but what one is oneself,’ said Jane.

Alfred grunted.

‘I wish I knew how to help you,’ she said earnestly; ’it is so very sad and hard; and I dare say I should be just as bad myself if I were as ill; but do, pray, Alfred, try to think that nobody sent it but God, and that He must know best.’