physically, but his mental distress at sight of the lost beer prevented
him from noticing his bruises. When he fully grasped the extent of the
calamity he actually became pale, and I do not think I ever saw such a
piteous little face in my life. I asked "How much was it, little 'un?"
His lips trembled, and he said, "I dunno. I put a-money down, and her
knows what to put in a-bottle. Father got to 'ave his beer, else he not
have good supper." I thought, "This youngster isn't ill-used, or he
wouldn't be anxious for his father to have a good supper." Then I
ordered a pint can of ale, and offered it to the youth. He hesitated,
and said, "It's dark. I slip on a stone, and then more beer gone," so I
took his hand, and marched off with the can, notwithstanding the fact
that my friend the cornet player struck up "See the conquering hero" in
a most humorous and embarrassing manner.

It was very quiet and fresh outside, after the hoarse wrangling and the
dreadful air, and I liked to have the boy's soft hand in mine. He said,
"Missa Benjo's cellar open. Two mens fall down a-night; you keep a-hold
o' my hand." I went very warily down the alley, and found that Mr. Benjo
had assuredly left an awkward trap for the people from The Chequers. My
young man seemed very smart and careful, and he soon led to a lone door
which opened into a den that was half kitchen, half cellar.

"Who a-you got long o' you, Teddy?" inquired a gruff man who was
crouched on a stool by the side of the empty grate.

"It's a man, father, wot give me the beer."

"Come in, mate, if you've a mind."

I accepted the invitation, prompted by my usual curiosity, and found