"Granny," (Jack always called her "granny" like the rest), "granny, I've come to say good-bye. I am going away f-f-for ever an' ever!" "Amen!" responded Natty, from the mere force of habit, for he was a constant responder at granny's family worship. "Ye don't know that, darlin'," replied old Nell. "The Lord leads us in ways that we know not, an' it may be His good pleasure to bring you here again." "N-no; I'm quite _sure_ I'll never see you again," returned the boy, giving way to the sobs which he could not restrain. "M-mother says we will never come back again,--n-never, _never_ more--" He broke down entirely at this point, and a few silent tears trickled over the kind old face of Nell. Natty was too much of a man to give way out and out, but he snivelled a little in spite of himself. As for Nellie, she stood there in open-eyed wonder, for she failed to quite understand the situation. We will not prolong the painful scene. When at length Jack had taken leave of them all--had kissed the two Nells and shaken hands with Natty--the younger Nell seemed to realise the facts of the case; for Jack saw her, as he glanced back for the last time, suddenly shut her large blue eyes, throw back her curly little head, open wide her pretty little mouth, and howl miserably. STORY THREE, CHAPTER 2. LOST IN LONDON. London in a fog is too well known to require description. In an uncommonly thick fog, on a day in December of the following year, Mrs Matterby hurried along Fleet Street in the direction of the city, leading Jack by the hand. Both were very wet, very cold, ravenously hungry, and rather poorly clad. It was evident that things had not prospered with the widow. "Dear Jack," she said in a choking voice, as they hurried along the streets towards the wretched abode in the Tower Hamlets, to which they had been at length reduced, "dear Jack, my last human hope has failed. Mr Block has told me that I need not go there again; he has no more work for me." Jack's experience of life was too limited to enable him to understand fully the depth of distress, to which his mother had fallen--with health broken, money expended, and work not to be had except on terms which rendered life a misery, and prolonged existence almost an impossibility. But Jack's power of sympathy was strong and his passions were vehement. "Mother," he said, with tearful eyes, as he clung closer to her side, "I would _kill_ Mr Block if I could!" "Hush, dear boy! You know that would be wrong and could do no good. It is sinful even to feel such a desire." "How can I help it, mother!" returned Jack indignantly. Then he asked, "What are we going to do now, mother?" For some time the poor widow did not reply; then she spoke in a low tone, as if murmuring to herself, "The last sixpence gone; the cupboard empty; nothing--nothing left to pawn--" She stopped short, and glanced hastily at her marriage ring.