“And,” continued the lad who showed the cathedral, “he has lived here these many, many winters. They say he is fifteen years old; and he is so tame, poor fellow! that if I had a bit of bread he’d come down and feed in my hand.” “I’ve a bit of bun here,” cried Ben, joyfully, producing the remains of the bun which Hal but an hour before would have thrown away. “Pray, let us see the poor robin eat out of your hand.” The lad crumbled the bun, and called to the robin, who fluttered and chirped, and seemed rejoiced at the sight of the bread; but yet he did not come down from his pinnacle on the organ. “He is afraid of _us_,” said Ben; “he is not used to eat before strangers, I suppose.” “Ah, no, sir,” said the young man, with a deep sigh, “that is not the thing. He is used enough to eat afore company. Time was he’d have come down for me before ever so many fine folks, and have eat his crumbs out of my hand, at my first call; but, poor fellow! it’s not his fault now. He does not know me now, sir, since my accident, because of this great black patch.” The young man put his hand to his right eye, which was covered with a huge black patch. Ben asked what _accident_ he meant; and the lad told him that, but a few weeks ago, he had lost the sight of his eye by the stroke of a stone, which reached him as he was passing under the rocks at Clifton unluckily when the workmen were blasting. “I don’t mind so much for myself, sir,” said the lad; “but I can’t work so well now, as I used to do before my accident, for my old mother, who has had a _stroke_ of the palsy; and I’ve a many little brothers and sisters not well able yet to get their own livelihood, though they be as willing as willing can be.” “Where does your mother live?” said Mr. Gresham. “Hard by, sir, just close to the church here: it was _her_ that always had the showing of it to strangers, till she lost the use of her poor limbs.” “Shall we, may we, uncle, go that way? This is the house; is not it?” said Ben, when they went out of the cathedral. They went into the house; it was rather a hovel than a house; but, poor as it was, it was as neat as misery could make it. The old woman was sitting up in her wretched bed, winding worsted; four meagre, ill-clothed, pale children were all busy, some of them sticking pins in paper for the pin-maker, and others sorting rags for the paper-maker.