"There, there, my dear boy," said Robert Grantham, "you must not exhaust yourself by talking too much. You have taken the medicine bravely. Now try and swallow a spoonful of gruel." He had kept it hot for the lad on the gas-stove. "Thank you, Mr. Gran, I'll try; but I _should_ like to know where I'm going to." "If you do not get well, Billy, you will be in a better place than this." "Glad to 'ear it, sir; though luck's agin me. Yer didn't think it bad o' me to cut away from yer so sly, did yer?" "No, my lad, no; but what made you go?" "I'll tell yer 'ow it was, sir. I didn't want to take the bread out of yer mouth, and I found out I was doing it, without yer ever saying a word about it. There was the last day I was with yer, Mr. Gran; you 'ad dry bread, I 'ad treacle on mine; yer give me a cup 'o broth, and water was good enough for you. At supper you didn't take a bite of anythink, while I was tucking away like one o'clock. 'It's time for you to cut yer lucky, Billy,' I sed; and I did." "Foolish lad! foolish lad!" said Robert Grantham, smoothing Billy's hair. "Where did you go to?" "I don' know, Mr. Gran--into the country somewhere; but I didn't 'ave better luck there than 'ere, sir. I was took bad, and I was told I was dying; but I got better, Mr. Gran, and strong enough to walk back to London. I only come to-night, sir. When I was bad in the country, an old woman sed I was done for, and that if I didn't pray for salvation I should go to--you know where, sir. She give me a ha'penny, and sed, 'Now, you go away and pray as 'ard as yer can.' But I didn't think that'd do me any good, and ses I to myself, 'I'll toss up for it. Heads, salwation; tails, t'other.' I sent the ha'penny spinning, and down it come--tails, t'other. Jest like my luck, wasn't it, Mr. Gran?" "Billy," said Robert Grantham earnestly, "you must drive that notion out of your head. We are all equal in the sight of God----" "Oh, are we, Mr. Gran? That's a 'ard notion, as yer call it, to drive out o' my head, and I don't think I've got time for it. Beggin' yer pardon, sir." Rathbeal, pen in hand, stopped in his work, and listened to the conversation. "I tell you we are all equal in the eyes of God--rich and poor, high and low. The prayers of a poor boy reach God's ears as readily as the prayers of a rich man." "If _you_ prayed, Mr. Gran," said Billy, "Gawd'd listen to yer. Per'aps yer wouldn't mind praying for me a bit." Robert Grantham covered his eyes with his hand. "'Ave I 'urt yer, sir?" moaned Billy. "Don't say I've 'urt yer!" "No, my boy, no. If I had as little to answer for as you----" He paused awhile. "Your state is not of your own creating, Billy." "No, sir; I don't know as it is. I couldn't 'elp bein' wot I am." "There are many who could not say as much, who walk into sin with their eyes wide open--Billy!"