He could not well be, with so fair a face opposite his own. Presently he said: ‘Ain’t this jolly! a deal better than going on the tramp! The old man and mother are allus on the tramp.’ ‘Then you have no home.’ ‘Home! What do you mean?’ ‘Ah, I see you haven’t,’ said the lady, with a sigh, ‘or you would not have asked me that question. Can you read?’ ‘No—what’s that? Anything to eat?’ The actress took out a newspaper. ‘There, what does that mean?’ she asked. ‘Blest if I knows.’ ‘Ah, I’m afraid you’ve a good deal to learn. What can you do?’ ‘Oh, all sorts of things; stand on my head, ’old ’osses, do the Catherine wheel business. Shall I show you?’ said the little fellow, emerging from his wrap, and preparing to display his gymnastic powers. ‘Dash my buttons! the place ain’t big enough,’ said the boy with a disappointed air. Presently the train came to a halt, and in a minute the boy was under the seat, exclaiming in a fright: ‘Oh, crikey! there’s a peeler.’ ‘Well, he won’t hurt you.’ ‘Oh, won’t he; I know better than that!’ ‘No; you be a good boy, and sit still, and he won’t do you any harm; he is coming to look at the tickets.’ The railway official having departed, the lad began to look out of the window, enjoying the way in which the train rattled along through tunnels and over rivers, through fields and villages and towns. ‘Now tell me,’ said the actress, ‘did you ever hear of God?’ ‘No; where did he live?’ ‘Nor of Christ?’ ‘Oh yes, I’ve often heard mother say “Oh, Christ!” when father came home drunk.’ ‘I’m afraid you’re a bit of a heathen.’ ‘Oh yes,’ said the boy, with pride; ‘people often call me that.’ After that the conversation dropped; the actress had much else to think of, and the boy fell asleep. It was late when the train reached London, and the actress and her charge were deposited at the King’s Cross railway-station. The little fellow had slept all the way up, and sorely were his eyes dazzled with the glitter of the gas lamps, and his ears stunned as cab after cab drove away. Muffling herself as much as possible, and dragging the little fellow after her, the actress rushed along the platform to where a neat brougham was drawn on one side, waiting for its owner. ‘Oh, you’re here, Jarvis, are you?’ ‘Yes, ma’am,’ was the reply, as the coachman touched his hat. ‘Drive home, ma’am?’ said he interrogatively. ‘Oh no; drive me to Clifford’s Inn. Jump in, my little man,’ she said to the poor boy, and, following herself, the brougham was soon spinning along Gray’s Inn Road. ‘I hope Wentworth will be at home,’ said the lady to herself. ‘I wonder what lark missus is up to,’ thought Jarvis, as the brougham made its way amongst the cabs and omnibuses, chiefly burdened with a pleasure-loving and theatre-going community returning from their night’s amusements.