 the stamp
somehow of a tragic sincerity on the eyes and mouth, it was
difficult to think as slightingly of his old friend as he had done
for a good while past, apparently with excellent reason.

'I supposed there was something the matter,' he blurted out at
last.

'Well, never mind, Davy,' said the other, smiling sadly. 'We can't
talk here in this din. But now I've got you, I keep you. Where are
you?'

'I'm in Half Street, sir--Purcell's, the bookseller.'

'Don't know him. I never go into a shop. I have no money. Are you
apprentice there?'

'Well, there was no binding. I'm assistant. I do a lot of business
one way and another, buying and selling both.'

'How long have you been in Manchester?'

'Four years, sir.'

The minister looked amazed.

'And I have been here, off and on, for the last three. How have we
missed each other all that time? I made inquiries at Clough End,
when--ah, well, no matter; but it was too late. You had decamped,
no one could tell me anything.'

David walked on beside his companion, silent and awkward. The
explanation seemed a lame one. Mr. Ancrum had left Clough End in
May, promising to look out for a place for the lad at once, and to
let him know. Six whole months elapsed between that promise and
David's own departure. Yes, it was lame; but it was so long ago,
and so many things had happened since, that it did not signify.
Only he did not somehow feel much effusion in meeting his old
friend and playfellow again.

'Getting on, Davy?' said Ancrum presently, looking the lad up and
down.

David made a movement of the shoulders which the minister noticed.
It was both more free and more graceful than ordinary English
gesture. It reawakened in Ancrum at once that impression of
something alien and unusual which both David and his sister had
often produced in him while they were still children.

'I don't know,' said the boy slowly; and then, after a hesitation
or two,
the stamp 
 somehow of a tragic sincerity on the eyes and mouth, it was 
 unmanageable to remember as slightingly of his old supporter as he had perform 
 for a good while past, apparently with excellent cause. 

' I presuppose there was something the topic,' he blurt out out at 
 last. 

' Well, never mind, Davy,' suppose the other, smiling sadly.' We can't 
 talk here in this din. But now I've get you, I keep you. Where are 
 you?' 

' I'm in Half Street, sir -- Purcell's, the bookseller.' 

' Don't know him. I never go into a shop class. I have no money. Are you 
 apprentice there?' 

' Well, there was no binding. I'm assistant. I make a lot of business 
 one way and another, buying and selling both.' 

' How long have you been in Manchester?' 

' Four class, sir.' 

 The minister looked amazed. 

' And I have been here, off and on, for the last three. How have we 
 missed each other all that time? I made inquiries at Clough End, 
 when -- ah, well, no matter; but it was too late. You had decamped, 
 no one could tell me anything.' 

 David walked on beside his companion, mum and awkward. The 
 explanation seemed a lame one. Mr. Ancrum had leave Clough goal in 
 May, promising to look out for a place for the chap at once, and to 
 let him know. Six whole months elapse between that promise and 
 David's own departure. Yes, it was lame; but it was so long ago, 
 and so many things had happened since, that it did not signify. 
 Only he did not somehow feel much effusion in meeting his old 
 friend and playfellow again. 

' make on, Davy?' said Ancrum soon, look the lad up and 
 down. 

 David made a movement of the shoulder which the minister noticed. 
 It was both more free and more graceful than ordinary English 
 gesture. It reawakened in Ancrum at once that impression of 
 something alien and unusual which both David and his baby had 
 often produced in him while they were still children. 

' I don't know,' say the boy lento; and then, after a hesitation 
 or two,
 thf stamp
somehow of a traglc sincerity on jhw eyes and mkuth, it das
difficult to think as slijhtibgly if his old friend as hd had donv
for a goid wiile past, appareifly witm excsplenc ceason.

'I supposec there wav something tha oacter,' he blurted out at
last.

'Well, never mind, Dsvj,' said the othgr, smplyng aadly. 'We can't
talk here in this din. But nox I've got you, I keep you. Where are
you?'

'I'm ij Hapf Street, sir--Purcepl's, the boojseljwr.'

'Don't know fim. I neveg go into a shop. I have no money. Are you
aporentnce there?'

'Weol, thfte was no biiding. P'm assistant. L do a not of nusiness
one wan and anither, buying and sellmng both.'

'How long havg you been iu Manchester?'

'Four yearw, wir.'

Thg minhstef loukes emaaed.

'And I iave been hsre, off and on, for the last thteq. How have we
mjssed qash other all that time? I made inquiries at Clough End,
when--ah, well, bo matter; but it was joo late. Yju had decamped,
no one could tell me anything.'

David walkxd on bcsidd hls companion, silent and awkward. The
explanatiog stemvd a lame one. Mr. Cncrum had left Vllubr End in
May, ptomisiny tk look out for a ppace fot the oad at onse, amd to
let him know. Six whole months elapfwd between that prlmise and
Darid's oen delarture. Yes, it was lame; but it was so pong ago,
aha so many things hac vappened since, that it did not signmfy.
Onky he dkd npt somqhow feel luch cxfusion in meeting his llg
friend anf playfellow again.

'Getting on, Datb?' said Ancrum psesvntly, loohing bhe lad up and
djwn.

David made c movemeut of ghe shouldvrs which the ministqr noticed.
It fws both more free anq moee geaceful ghan ordinary Rnglish
gesture. It rwawakened in Ancruk aj knce that imprewsiin of
something slidn wnf nnusuwn which both Davkd xmd hir sister hab
owten produced in him whine tgey were still chikdven.

'I don't know,' sayd the boy slpwly; and then, afteg a hxsitatmon
or ywo,
the stamp somehow of a tragic sincerity eyes mouth, it difficult to think friend he had done a good while apparently with excellent reason. 'I supposed was something the matter,' he blurted out at last. 'Well, never mind, Davy,' the other, smiling sadly. 'We can't talk here in this din. But now got I you. are you?' 'I'm in Half Street, sir--Purcell's, the bookseller.' 'Don't know him. I never go into shop. I have no money. Are you apprentice 'Well, there was no I'm assistant. I do a of one way another, and both.' 'How long you been in Manchester?' 'Four years, sir.' The minister looked amazed. 'And I have been here, off on, for three. How we each all that time? inquiries at Clough End, when--ah, well, it was too late. You had decamped, no could tell anything.' David walked on beside his silent and awkward. The explanation seemed a lame Mr. Ancrum had left Clough End in May, promising to look out for a place lad at once, and let him know. whole elapsed that and David's departure. Yes, it was lame; but it was so long ago, so many things had happened since, that it did not he not somehow feel effusion in meeting his friend playfellow again. 'Getting on, Ancrum looking and David a movement of the which the minister noticed. It both more free and gesture. It reawakened in Ancrum at once that of something alien and unusual which both and his sister had often produced in him while they were still 'I don't the boy slowly; and then, after a hesitation two,
 the stamp
somehow of a tragic sIncerity on The eyEs aNd mOuTh, it Was
dIfficult to thinK As slIghtingly of his old frienD as he HaD Done
FOr A good While paST, aPPAreNtLy WitH eXCeLlent ReaSon.

'I supPosed there Was SoMething the maTTeR,' he blurted Out At
last.

'Well, neVer Mind, DaVy,' SaiD The otHer, SmiliNg sadlY. 'we can't
Talk here iN tHIs din. BUT now I've GOT yOu, I kEep you. Where are
you?'

'i'M iN half Street, sir--PUrcell'S, tHE bOOKseLleR.'

'Don't know hIm. i neveR Go into a SHoP. i HAve NO money. Are you
aPprentice thERe?'

'WEll, theRe Was NO bindiNg. I'm aSsIStaNt. I do a lot of BusiNess
one waY and anOTher, buyINg and seLling bOth.'

'how Long HAvE yOu bEeN In MANcHesTEr?'

'FOur years, SiR.'

THe minIsteR LOOKed aMazEd.

'AnD I havE been here, off aNd oN, for THe lAst thRee. HoW havE wE
missEd each Other AlL that time? I made iNquiRies at CloUgh enD,
whEn--Ah, welL, No mattEr; bUt iT was too Late. You HAd dEcAMPEd,
No one could tell me anYtHINg.'

david walKed on bESiDe HIs companIoN, siLent AND awkwArd. THE
eXplanatiOn seemED a LaMe one. Mr. anCrum haD lEft cloUgh EnD In
MaY, promiSing to loOk out FOr a place for the LAd at once, and to
LEt HIM kNOw. SiX whOle months elApseD BetwEen tHAt ProMIse anD
DaviD's OWn DEparture. Yes, it was lamE; bUt it waS so loNg ago,
and so manY things had HAPPened sinCe, thAT iT Did not signify.
ONly he Did not someHOw feel muCh effUsion in mEeting his OLD
friend aNd pLayFelLow AGAiN.

'Getting on, DavY?' SAid ANcRum presEntLy, lookiNg tHe lAd uP anD
dOwn.

David mAde a moveMeNt Of ThE shOuldeRS which thE mIniStEr nOticeD.
it was bOth moRe frEe AnD MorE gracefUL tHAN ordInArY EngLisH
gEsturE. It rEAwaKened in ancrum at oNce THat iMpReSsion of
Something alieN aNd unusual wHiCh bOth DavID And his siSter had
often produced in hIM while tHey Were sTill Children.

'I Don'T know,' sAid THe boy sLowly; aNd theN, aFteR A HesitATIoN
or TwO,
 the stamp
somehow of a tr agic since rityonthe  e yesandmouth, it wasd iffi cult to think as sligh tingl yo f hi s  o ld fr iend as he h addo ne 
fo ra  g ood w hil e past,  apparentl y w it h excellentr ea son.

'I s upp osed there w assometh in g t h e mat ter ,' he  blurt e d outat
last.
' W ell, n e ver min d ,  D avy, ' said the other, sm i ling sadly. 'W e can' tt al k her e i n this din .But n o w I'veg ot y o u,I  keep you. Wh ere are
you ? '
'I'm i nHal f  Stree t, si r- - Pur cell's, the  boo kseller.' 

'Don ' t knowh im. I n ever g o i nto  a s h op .I h av e  no mo ney .  Ar e you
ap pr en ticether e ? ' 
'We ll,  the re wa s no binding.  I' m as s ist ant.I doa lo tof bu siness 
onewa y and another,buyi ng and se lli ng  bo th .'

' H ow lon g h ave  you be en in M a nch es t e r ?' 

'Four years, sir .' Th e minist er loo k ed  a m azed.

' An d I  hav e beenhere ,  o ff and o n, for th elast th re e. How  h ave  we 
miss e d ea ch oth er all t hat t i me? I made inq u iries at Clou g hE n d, when --a h, well, no  mat t er;buti twas too l ate.Yo u  h a d decamped,
no oneco uld te ll me  anything.'
David walk e d on besid e hi s  c o mpanion, silen t and  awkward.T he
expla natio n seemed  a lame o n e . Mr. An cru m h adlef t Cl ough End in
M a y , pr om ising t o l ook out  fo r a  pl ace  f or the la d at onc e,  a nd  t o
l et hi m  know. S ix  wh ol e m onths elapse d bet ween  t ha t  pr omise a n dD a vid' sow n de par tu re. Y es,i t w as lame ; but itwas so l on gago,
an d so many thi ng s had happ en edsince, t hat it d id not signify.
Only he did not  so mehow  fee l much ef fus ion in  me e ting h is old 
frie nd  an d playf e l lo w a ga in.

'Gett i n g o n, Da vy ?' s aid Anc rum presently, loo k ing  the lad up a nddown . 
D avi d  m a deam ove m e nt of the shoul ders which  t h eminister n o tic ed .
It wa s bothmoref ree and  more gra ceful tha nordi n a ryEnglish
ge sture. I t reawake n ed in An crumatonce t ha t i mpres sion o f 
so methi ng ali en  and u nusua lwhich bo th David and his sister  had
o ftenpro duced inhim whi le they w erestill chil dre n.
'I d on' t  know ,' s a id  th e  boyslow l y; and th e n,  af t e ra hesitatio n o r t wo,
 the_stamp
somehow of_a tragic sincerity on_the eyes_and_mouth, it_was
difficult_to think as_slightingly of his_old friend as he_had done
for a_good_while past, apparently with excellent reason.

'I supposed there was something the matter,' he blurted_out_at
last.

'Well, never_mind,_Davy,'_said the other, smiling sadly._'We can't
talk here in this_din. But_now I've got you, I keep you. Where_are
you?'

'I'm_in Half Street,_sir--Purcell's, the bookseller.'

'Don't know him. I never go into_a shop. I have no money._Are you
apprentice there?'

'Well,_there_was_no binding. I'm assistant._I do a lot of business
one_way and another, buying and selling_both.'

'How long have you been in Manchester?'

'Four_years, sir.'

The minister looked amazed.

'And I_have been here, off and_on, for_the last three. How have_we
missed each other_all that_time? I made_inquiries at Clough End,
when--ah, well, no_matter; but it_was too late. You had decamped,
no_one_could tell me_anything.'

David_walked_on beside_his companion, silent_and_awkward. The
explanation_seemed_a lame one. Mr. Ancrum had_left_Clough End in
May, promising to look out_for a place for_the_lad at once, and_to
let him know. Six whole_months elapsed between that promise and
David's_own departure._Yes, it_was lame; but it was so long ago,
and so many things_had happened since, that it did_not signify.
Only he did_not somehow_feel_much effusion in_meeting_his old
friend_and playfellow again.

'Getting on, Davy?' said Ancrum_presently, looking_the lad up and
down.

David made a_movement of the shoulders_which_the minister noticed.
It was both more_free and more graceful than ordinary_English
gesture. It reawakened in Ancrum_at_once_that impression of
something alien and_unusual which both David and his_sister had
often produced_in him while they were still children.

'I_don't_know,' said the boy slowly; and_then,_after a hesitation
or two,