"You don't say so!" I exclaimed "I have often noticed the strange length of that tooth, but I had no notion of the extent of the evil." "It has much increased since you left us," sighed Oddity, "and where it will end I really don't know. The poor fellow is blind, he had no pleasure but in nibbling and chatting, and now his dreadful long tooth is actually locking his jaw." "Shall I go to see him?" said I. "Do as you please," replied Oddity. "There is little pleasure in seeing him now, poor fellow." And so I found when I went. Poor old Furry's misfortune had by no means sweetened his temper. He was ready to bite any one who approached him, only biting was now out of the question. He could hardly manage to swallow a little meal which Oddity had procured, and certainly took it without a sign of gratitude. One would have thought, by his manner towards the piebald rat, that it was he who had knocked out the unlucky front tooth, instead of having kindly attended to Furry's wants for so long, and borne with his temper, which was harder. But Oddity was, without a doubt, the most patient and steady of rats. While Bright-eyes, full of fun, made many a joke at the expense of the blind, crabbed old rat, who had been so fond of talking, and now could scarcely utter a squeak-- of eating, and now could not nibble a nut,-- Oddity never thought the sufferings of another the subject for a smile, or the peevishness and infirmities of age any theme for the ridicule of the young. He had been often laughed at himself; that was perhaps the reason why he never gave the same pain to others. I was really glad to escape back to my shed from the atmosphere of a peevish temper. I was accompanied to it by Oddity. "And now, dear old rat," said I, when we were alone, "how go on our little ragged friends? What has become of Bob and Billy?" "They still live, or rather starve, in the old shed," said he; "but now they go out each day together. I expect them here every minute." "So then they are as poor as ever?" inquired I. "I have heard something of occasional treats of warm soup at the school, but I don't think that they get anything certain. I suppose that now and then, when some good folk sit down to a comfortable meal, beside a roaring fire, they just happen to remember that seventy or eighty half-famished children are gathered together in a street near, and send them a welcome supply. But both Bob and Billy have hope now, if they have nothing else; they expect soon to be able to do something for themselves, and to be helped on by the kind friends whom they have found at the school." "Has Bob brought home any more red handkerchiefs with white spots?" inquired I.