“Why not?”

“Pride, I reckon.”

“Pride?  Why should she be proud?”

“Dear knows!  Maybe she once belonged to the bettermost class of people, and was afraid of meeting some of them in the street.”

This brief conversation awoke an interest in my mind for the lad.  As I left the shop, I met him at the door with a large bucket of water in his hand—­too heavy for his strength.  I looked at him more narrowly than I had ever done before.  There was a feminine delicacy about every feature of his face, unusual in boys who ordinarily belong to the station he was filling.  His eyes, too, had a softer expression, and his brow was broader and fairer.  The intentness with which I looked at him, caused him to look at me as intently.  What thoughts were awakened in his mind I could not tell.  I put my hand upon his head, involuntarily; but did not speak to him; and then passed on.  I could not help turning to take another glance at the boy.  He had turned also.  I saw that there were tears in his eyes.

“Poor fellow!” I murmured, “he is out of his place.”  I did, not go back to speak to him, as I wished afterward that I had done, but kept on my way.

Not having occasion to visit the shoemaker’s wife again for some months, this boy did not, during the time, fall under my notice.  It was midwinter when I next saw him.

I was preparing to go out one stormy morning in February, when a lad came into my office.  He was drenched to the skin by the rain, that was driving fiercely along under the pressure of a strong northeaster, and shivering with cold.  His teeth chattered so that it was some time before he could make known his errand.  I noticed that he was clad in a much worn suit of common corduroy, the cracks in which, here and there, showed the red skin beneath, and proved clearly enough that this was all that protected him from the bitter cold.  One of his shoes gaped widely at the toe; and the other was run down at the heel so badly, that part of his foot and old ragged stocking touched the floor.  A common sealskin cap, with the front part nearly torn off, was in his hand.  He had removed this from his head on entering, and stood, with his eyes now resting on mine, and now dropping beneath my gaze, waiting for me to ask his errand.  I did not recognise him.

“Well, my little man,” I said, “is any one sick?”

“Please sir, Mr. Maxwell wants you to come down and see Johnny.”

“Mr. Maxwell!  Do you live with Mr. Maxwell?”

“Yes, sir.”

I now recognized the lad.  He was a good deal changed since I last saw him, and changed for the worse.

“What is the matter with Johnny?” I asked.

“I believe he’s got the croup.”

“Indeed!  Is he very sick?”

“Yes, sir.  He can’t hardly breathe at all, and goes all the time just so—­” Imitating the wheezing sound attendant upon constricted respiration.