And boys _had_ worried him for years--lost his numbers, been behind-hand with the _Times_ to his best customers, insulted those customers when reprimanded, and set the blame of delay at his door, played and fought with other boys before his very shop-front, broken his windows in putting up the shutters, had even paid visits to his till, and surreptitiously made off with stock, and had never in his memory of boys--industrious or otherwise--possessed one civil, clean-faced, decent youth. "Suppose I had Mattie on trial for a week," he said at last, and looked towards the lamp-post. Mattie was gone--a black shadow, exactly like her, was hurrying away down the street towards the Borough--running almost, and with her hands to her head, as though a crowd of thoughts was stunning her! Mr. Wesden never accounted for leaving his shop-door open without warning his wife--for running at his utmost speed after the girl. At the corner of Great Suffolk Street he overtook her. "Where are you going?--what are you running for?" he asked, indignantly. Mattie started, looked at him, recognized him. "Nothin--partic'ler--is anythink the matter?" "How--how--should you--like--to be--_a news boy_?" he panted. No circumlocution in Mr. Wesden--straight to the point as an arrow. "Yours!--you wouldn't trust me--you never gives trust." "I've--I've thought of trying you." "You?" she said again. "Yes--_me_." "Well, I'd do anythink to get an honest living--but I was giving up the thoughts o' it--it's so hard for the likes of us, master." "Come back, and I'll tell you what I've been thinking about, Mattie." Not a word about what Mrs. Wesden had been thinking about--such is man's selfishness and narrow-mindedness. Mattie went back--for good! * * * * * On this prologue to our story we can afford to drop the curtain, leaving our figures in outline, and waiting a better time to paint our characters--such as they are--more fully. We need not dwell upon Mattie's trial, upon Mattie's change of costume, and initiation into an old frock and boots of the absent Harriet--of the many accidents of life at Wesden, stationer's, accidents which led to the wanderer's settling down, a member of the household, an item in that household expenditure. Let the time roll on a year or two, during which Mr. Wesden's back grew worse, and Mrs. Wesden's hair more grey, and let the changes that have happened to our friends speak for themselves in the story we have set ourselves to write. Leave we, then, the Stray on the threshold of her new estate, standing in Harriet Wesden's dress, thinking of her future; the shadow-land from which she has emerged behind her, and new scenes, new characters beyond there--beneath the bright sky, where all looks so radiant from the distance. END OF THE FIRST BOOK. BOOK II. THE NEW ESTATE. CHAPTER I. HOME FOR GOOD.