"Not a rag of one," answered my companion; "but he brings back something which puzzles my brain-- something white, with black marks upon it. He and little Billy sit poring over it by the hour. They don't eat it, they don't smell it, they don't wear it: I can't make out that it is of any use to them at all; and yet they seem as much pleased, as they study it together, as if it were a piece of Dutch cheese!" "What are these odd things scattered about the shed?" said I; "I don't remember seeing them before." "Ah! I forgot to say the little one is beginning to make baskets, and neat fingers he has about it: it seems quite a pleasure to the child. The very talk of the boys is growing different now; the elder--" He stopped at the sound of a distant cough, which became more distressing every minute, till our two poor boys entered the shed, and Bob sank wearily down on the floor. "Oh! that cough, how it shakes you!" cried Billy. "Never mind, 'twill be over soon," gasped his brother. I was so much surprised at the change in the boys' appearance, that at first I could hardly believe my eyes. They both looked much whiter than I had seen them before; their hair was cut closer, and brushed to one side, instead of hanging right over their eyes. Neither of the brothers was in rags; the old worn clothes indeed were still there, but neatly patched and mended; some one had given Bob a pair of old shoes, but it was Billy who wore the warm cloak. "His brother always makes him wear it," whispered Oddity, "except at night, and then it covers them both." "Now you must have it, Bob; isn't it comfy?" said the lame child, pressing the cloak round his brother, whose violent cough for the moment prevented his reply, and brought a bright colour to his cheek, which I never had seen there before. "I'll creep very close to you, Bobby, and then we'll both have it, you know. There! are you better now?" he said, softly, laying his thin cheek against that of his brother. "I don't think I'll ever get better here." The boy shivered and closed his eyes as he spoke. "Oh, Bob! Bob!" cried the child, in accents of fear, "you're not a-going to be ill like mother; you're not a-going to-- die, and leave me!" There was something very gentle in the tone, and sweet in the uplift eye, of the poor destitute boy, as he replied, "I can't say if I'm a-going to die, Billy; but don't you mind what Miss Mary told us about dying? I used to be afeared when I thought on it, but now-- I think I could die and be happy!" "But you must not-- you shall not go and leave me! Oh! what should I do without you?" cried Billy, bursting into tears. CHAPTER XI. A REMOVAL. A manly voice was heard on the outside, speaking to a porter who was passing at the moment. "Can you tell me, pray, whether two boys of the name of Parton live near this place? From the direction which was given me, I think that we must be near their dwelling."