working in his fertile, healthy brain, to ripen and bear fruit one day perhaps. Such, imperfectly limned, was Timothy Chance as he stood before Mr. Loveday the bookseller. CHAPTER X. "Just come back, Timothy?" "Yes, sir, just come back." "You've been away a long time?" "Seven months, sir." "Done any good for yourself?" "Yes, sir." "Ah, you've got a pocketful of money, then?" "Not a penny, sir." "Yet you say you've done well?" "Yes, sir. I've worked hard, and had plenty to eat, and I'm stronger than ever." "Ah, that's what you mean by doing well?" "Yes, sir, and I'm willinger--I mean, more willing than ever." At this slip of language and its correction Mr. Loveday cocked up his ears, and took a longer look at the lad. Timothy met his gaze ingenuously. "I think there's an improvement in you, Timothy." "I hope so, sir." "Where have you been?" "In a lot of places, sir, but most of the time in a school." "Oh, in a school. Doing what? Studying?" "A little, sir," said Timothy, modestly; "but I wasn't engaged for that." "For what, then?" "Garden work, knife-cleaning, boot-cleaning, running of errands, making myself generally useful." "And picking up scholarship." "As much of it as ever I could, sir." "There is certainly an improvement in you, Timothy. You speak more correctly than you did." Timothy was silent, but his face flushed with pleasure. "How did you get into the school?" "By a bit of good-luck, sir--though it wasn't good-luck to another boy who had the place." "What is one man's meat, Timothy, is another man's poison." "Is it, sir?" "So they say, and so it often happens. Go on." "I was in Essex, sir, looking for a job. It was half-past ten in the morning." "Carried a watch, eh?" "No, sir, I was passing a church. But I didn't pass it. I stopped. "What for?"