'I say, he's a queer old buffer, the boss, isn't he?' asked Walter, his
eye twinkling again as he jerked his thumb towards the door. 'They say
he's awful rich, but he's a miserable old wretch. I'd rather be myself
than him any day.'

'I should think so,' answered Gladys, looking into the fine open face of
the lad with a smile, which made him redden a little.

'I say, you might tell me why you think I'm so much better off than him.
I sometimes think myself that I'm the most miserable wretch in the
world.'

'Oh no, you're not; you are quite young, and you are a man--at least,
you will be soon. If I were you I should never think that, nor be afraid
of anything. It isn't very nice to be a girl like me; with you it is so
different.'

'Well, perhaps I ought to be thankful that I'm not a woman. I never
thought of that. Women have the worst of it mostly, now I think of it.
I'm sorry for you.'

'Thank you.'

Gladys looked at him gratefully, and both these young desolate hearts,
awaking to the possibilities and the sorrows of life, felt the chord of
sympathy responding each to the other.

'He gives me five shillings a week here and my meat. They take it all at
home, and I want so awful to go to the night school. Do you know, it