'I'll trouble you, Bob, not to "old-feller" me; it sounds special, and it don't suit me jist now. More than ten year, eh? So it is, Bob; so it is. You've found me a pretty obstinate old chap--pig'eaded you might say, eh?' 'Well, Jimmy, you are rather--' 'Pig-'eaded--that's the word. Now, look 'ere, you two! Pig'eaded I am, and pig-'eaded I'm goin' to be, to the last. If either o' you--you, Bob, or you, sir--ever orfers me anythink agin--bed, money, grub, I don't care what!--you can say good-bye from that blessed minute to Jimmy Virtue. I must be nigh on seventy year old--I can't speak for two or three year one way or another, but I must be nigh on seventy if I'm a day--and I've never took charity yet; and I don't mean to begin now. I've never pocketed no money as I didn't work for--except Jack's, and that's a matter 'twixt 'im and me--and I ain't a-going to begin that game at my time o' life. So I'll thank you to say good-night, and leave Jimmy Virtue to 'isself.' 'You might as well talk to the Monument,' said Robert Truefit, as we walked home, 'as talk to Jimmy after what he has said. He'll die before he'll take a penny-piece. We must humour the old fellow, and hope for the best.' The following day I learned that Tom Beadle was undergoing another term of six months' imprisonment for pickpocketing. I went to him to tell him of the death of his child, and I took a piece of black crape with me for his cap. I had never spoken to him before, and I was wishful to know something of his nature, so that I might judge in what way I could best impress him to act for the good of the girl who clung to him with so much devotion. He received me with cunning civility; his lynx eyes watched every word from my lips, as if in every word might be concealed a trap. In his mind he classed me with those who wished Blade-o'-Grass to desert him, and therefore I was his enemy. I knew, also, that the fact of my being a minister was an additional argument against me in his eyes. But he must be civil to me, because Blade-o'-Grass had told him I had been kind to her. His eyes moistened when he heard of the death of his child, and his grief grew stronger in the brief pause that ensued. But after a time he said it was the best thing that could have happened to the little thing. I told him, also, of the kindness of Mr. Merrywhistle, and that it was he who had borne the expenses of the funeral. 'Yes,' was Tom Beadle's careless comment, 'the old chap's 'elped Blade-o'-Grass a good many times, on and off. He's knowed 'er since she was a kid.' There was not a trace of gratitude in his voice. 'She has made other friends as well,' I said. A jealous gleam shot into his eyes. 'What friends? Swells?' 'Friends,' I answered, 'who sympathise deeply with her, and who would help her if they could.' 'What's to 'inder 'em?'