I was by no means disconcerted at not seeing her immediately.  Running on from one street to another, I took the turnings with unhesitating boldness, as if I had a destination in view.  I must have been out near an hour before I understood that Mrs. Waddy had eluded me; so I resolved to enjoy the shop-windows with the luxurious freedom of one whose speculations on those glorious things all up for show are no longer distracted by the run of time and a nursemaid.  Little more than a glance was enough, now that I knew I could stay as long as I liked.  If I stopped at all, it was rather to exhibit the bravado of liberty than to distinguish any particular shop with my preference:  all were equally beautiful; so were the carriages; so were the people.  Ladies frequently turned to look at me, perhaps because I had no covering on my head; but they did not interest me in the least.  I should have been willing to ask them or any one where the Peerage lived, only my mind was quite full, and I did not care.  I felt sure that a great deal of walking would ultimately bring me to St. Paul’s or Westminster Abbey; to anything else I was indifferent.

Toward sunset my frame was struck as with an arrow by the sensations of hunger on passing a cook’s-shop.  I faltered along, hoping to reach a second one, without knowing why I had dragged my limbs from the first.  There was a boy in ragged breeches, no taller than myself, standing tiptoe by the window of a very large and brilliant pastry-cook’s.  He persuaded me to go into the shop and ask for a cake.  I thought it perfectly natural to do so, being hungry; but when I reached the counter and felt the size of the shop, I was abashed, and had to repeat the nature of my petition twice to the young woman presiding there.

‘Give you a cake, little boy?’ she said.  ’We don’t give cakes, we sell them.’

‘Because I am hungry,’ said I, pursuing my request.

Another young woman came, laughing and shaking lots of ringlets.

‘Don’t you see he’s not a common boy? he doesn’t whine,’ she remarked, and handed me a stale bun, saying, ’Here, Master Charles, and you needn’t say thank you.’

‘My name is Harry Richmond, and I thank you very much,’ I replied.

I heard her say, as I went out, ‘You can see he’s a gentleman’s son.’  The ragged boy was awaiting me eagerly.  ‘Gemini! you’re a lucky one,’ he cried; ‘here, come along, curly-poll.’  I believe that I meant to share the bun with him, but of course he could not be aware of my beneficent intentions:  so he treated me as he thought I was for treating him, and making one snatch at the bun, ran off cramming it into his mouth.  I stood looking at any hand.  I learnt in that instant what thieving was, and begging, and hunger, for I would have perished rather than have asked for another cake, and as I yearned for it in absolute want of food, the boy’s ungenerous treatment of me came down in a cloud on my reason.