"I hope you are comfortable, my little man; but perhaps you've forgot your message." "I have no message, sir, for I know no one: and I am not comfortable, for I am starving," replied Joey, in a tremulous voice. "Are you in earnest now, when you say that, boy; or is it that you're humbugging me?" Joey shook his head. "I have eaten nothing since the day before yesterday morning, and I feel faint and sick," replied he at last. His new companion looked earnestly in our hero's face, and was satisfied that what he said was true. "As I hope to be saved," exclaimed he, "it's my opinion that a little bread and butter would not be a bad thing for you. Here," continued he, putting his hand into his coat-pocket, "take these coppers, and go and get some thing into your little vitals." "Thank you, sir, thank you, kindly. But I don't know where to go: I only came up to London two days ago." "Then follow me as fast as your little pins can carry you," said the other. They had not far to go, for a man was standing close to Spring-garden-gate with hot tea and bread and butter, and in a few moments Joey's hunger was considerably appeased. "Do you feel better now, my little cock?" "Yes, sir, thank you." "That's right, and now we will go back to the bench, and then you shall tell me all about yourself; just to pass away the time. Now," said he, as he took his seat, "in the first place, who is your father, if you have any; and if you haven't any, what was he?" "Father and mother are both alive, but they are a long way off. Father was a soldier, and he has a pension now." "A soldier! Do you know in what regiment?" "Yes, it was the 53rd, I think." "By the powers, my own regiment! And what is your name, then, and his?" "Rushbrook," replied Joey. "My pivot man, by all that's holy. Now haven't you nicely dropped on your feet?" "I don't know, sir," replied our hero. "But I do; your father was the best fellow I had in my company--the best forager, and always took care of his officer, as a good man should do. If there was a turkey, or a goose, or a duck, or a fowl, or a pig within ten miles of us, he would have it: he was the boy for poaching. And now tell me (and mind you tell the truth when you meet with a friend) what made you leave your father and mother?" "I was afraid of being taken up--" and here Joey stopped, for he hardly knew what to say; trust his new acquaintance with his father's secret he dare not, neither did he like to tell what was directly false; as the reader will perceive by his reply, he partly told the truth. "Afraid of being taken up! Why, what could they take up a spalpeen like you for?" "Poaching," replied Joey; "father poached too: they had proof against me, so I came away with father's consent." "Poaching! well, I'm not surprised at that, for if ever it was in the blood, it is in yours--that's truth. And what do you mean to do now?" "Anything I can to earn my bread."