Clare saw the sky, but he saw something else over him, better than the sky--the face of Mrs. Halliwell, the mistress of the menagerie. In it, as she stood looking down on him, was compassion, mingled with self-reproach. Clare jumped up, saying, “Good morning, ma’am!” He was yet but half awake, and staggered with sleep. “My poor boy!” answered the woman, “I sent you to sleep on the cold earth, with a sovereign of your own in my pocket! I made sure you would come and ask me for it! You’re too innocent to go about the world without a mother!” She turned her face away. “But, ma’am, you know I couldn’t have offered it to anybody,” said Clare. “It wasn’t good!--Besides, before I knew that,” he went on, finding she did not reply, “there was nobody but you I dared offer it to: they would have said I stole it--because I’m so shabby!” he added, looking down at his rags. “But it ain’t in the clothes, ma’am--is it?” Getting the better of her feelings for a moment, she turned her face and said,-- “It was all my fault! The sov. is a good one. It’s only cracked! I ought to have known, and changed it for you. Then all would have been well!” “I don’t think it would have made any difference, ma’am. We would rather sleep on the ground than in a bed that mightn’t be clean--wouldn’t we, Abby?” The dog gave a short little bark, as he always did when his master addressed him by his name.--“But I’m so glad!” Clare went on. “I was sure Mr. Goodenough thought the sovereign all right when he gave it me!--Were you ever disappointed in a sovereign, ma’am?” “I been oftener disappointed in them as owed ’em!” she answered. “But to think o’ me snug in bed, an’ you sleepin’ out i’ the dark night! I can’t abide the thought on it!” “Don’t let it trouble you, ma’am; we’re used to it. Ain’t we, Abby?” “Then you oughtn’t to be! and, please God, you shall be no more! But come along and have your breakfast. We don’t start till the last.” “Please, ma’am, may Abdiel come too?” “In course! ‘Love me, love my dog!’ Ain’t that right?” “Yes, ma’am; but some people like dogs worse than boys.” “A good deal depends on the dog. When folk brings up their dogs as bad as they do their childern, I want neither about me. But your dog’s a well-behaved dog. Still, he must learn not to come in sight o’ the animals.” “He will learn, ma’am!--Abdiel, lie down, and don’t come till I call you.” At the word, the dog dropped, and lay. The house-caravan stood a little way off, drawn aside when they began to break up. They ascended its steps behind, and entered an enchanting little room. It had muslin curtains to the windows, and a small stove in which you could see the bright red coals. On the stove stood a coffee-pot and a covered dish. How nice and warm the place felt, after the nearly shelterless night!