As Doctor R--rode off in his carriage, he could not help congratulating himself on the good deed he had performed. Still he did not feel altogether satisfied about the boy. He had been so much concerned for his distressed situation, that he had failed to make any inquiries of him in regard to his friends; and for this he blamed himself, because it was clear that, if the child had friends they ought to know his condition. He blamed himself for this thoughtlessness, and a consciousness of having performed but half of his duty to the poor boy caused a shade of concern to steal over him, which he could not shake off. And Henry, as he stood frightened in the shop, felt, as the carriage-wheels rattled away, the hope that had awakened faint and trembling in his heart, sinking into the gloom of despair. One who could have told him of his mother; one who, if he had only taken the courage to have mentioned his name, could have taken tidings of his condition to her, or perhaps would have carried him home, had been beside him for half an hour, and he had not spoken out. And now he was gone. He felt so sick and weak that he could hardly stand. From his sad, waking dreams he was roughly startled by the loud, sharp voice of his mistress, who, attracted by the strong expressions of Doctor R--, now entered the shop, exclaiming-- "What's all this? What's that little wretch been doing now, ha?" "I wish I'd never seen him!" muttered Sharp, but in a tone that left no doubt on the mind of his wife that something more than usually annoying had occurred. "What's the matter? What's he been doing? Not stealing, I hope; though I shouldn't wonder." "He's sick, and you've got to take care of him," was the dogged answer of Sharp. "Sick! He looks sick, don't he?" The tones of the virago were full of contempt. Any eye but hers would have seen sickness, sorrow, suffering, and want in the pale, frightened face of the poor boy, as he stood trembling beside the counter, and actually clinging to it for support. "Who was that in here, just now?" she added. "Doctor R--, of Boston," replied the hatter, who knew the doctor by sight very well. "What did he want?" "He picked Henry up in the street and took him over to the drug store at the corner. Then he brought him home in his carriage. He says that he must be taken care of, or he will become a cripple; that it's the worst case of chilblains he ever saw; and that his feet are in danger of mortification." "I don't believe a word of it. Here I you go off up-stairs," speaking sharply, and with a threatening look to the child. "I'd like to know what business he has to come here, meddling in affairs that don't concern him."