"Now, Fanny dear, don't cry, there's a good girl; pray don't now--and I'll buy you some nice pears to-morrow with the first halfpenny I get, even if I shouldn't get another, and if mother beats me till I'm dead when we come home." The boy kissed his sister once more, and then opened the attic-door. A man in a shabby black coat, and with an immense profusion of hair about his hang-dog countenance, was sitting on one side of a good fire, smoking a pipe. A thin, emaciated, but vixenish looking woman was arranging some food upon the table for supper. The entire furniture of the room consisted of that table, three broken chairs, and a filthy mattress in one corner. As soon as the boy opened the door, he seemed for a moment quite surprised to behold that man at the fireside: then, in another instant, he clapped his little hands joyously together, and exclaimed, "Oh! how glad I am: here's father come home again!" "Father's come home again!" echoed the girl; and the two children rushed up to their parent with the most pure--the most unfeigned delight. "Curse your stupidity, you fools," cried the man, brutally repulsing his children; "you've nearly broke my pipe." The boy fell back, abashed and dismayed: the little girl burst into tears. "Come, none of this humbug," resumed the man; "let's know what luck you've had to-day, since your mother says that she's been obliged to send you out on the tramp since I've been laid up for this last six months in the jug." "Yes, and speak out pretty plain, too, Master Harry," said the mother in a shrill menacing tone; "and none of your excuses, or you'll know what you have got to expect." "Please, mother," said the boy, slowly taking some halfpence from his pocket, "poor little Fanny got all this. I was so cold and hungry I couldn't ask a soul; so if it ain't enough, mother, you must beat me--and not poor little Fanny." As the boy uttered these words in a tremulous tone, and with tears trickling down his face, he got before his sister, in order to shield her, as it were, from his mother's wrath. "Give it here, you fool!" cried the woman, darting forward, and seizing hold of the boy's hand containing the halfpence: then, having hastily glanced over the amount, she exclaimed, "You vile young dog! I'll teach you to come home here with your excuses! I'll cut your liver out of ye, I will!" "How much has he brought?" demanded the man. "How much! Why not more than enough to pay for the beer," answered the woman indignantly. "Eightpence-halfpenny--and that's every farthing! But won't I take it out in his hide, that's all?" The woman caught hold of the boy, and dealt him a tremendous blow upon the back with her thin bony fist. He fell upon his knees, and begged for mercy. His unnatural parent levelled a volley of abuse at him, mingled with oaths and filthy expressions, and then beat him--dashed him upon the floor--kicked him--all but stamped upon his poor body as he writhed at her feet.