"No, of course not. You know she's not the one to make the worst of anything, Phil. She's too good for that. But, indeed, it's not so bad, after all. Why, our street is quite fresh and pleasant compared to Back Court," said Millie, mentioning one of the most wretched of the many thickly-populated alleys near Drury Lane. "You're like her there; you always make the best of everything. I wish I could, but I can't," said Phil despondently. "Never mind, Millie," he added cheerfully after a moment's pause, "I shall soon be able to earn enough to keep us both. I shall be fourteen, you know, next month. Won't we have a pretty cottage in the country some day, that's all?" "But we couldn't leave uncle, Phil," said Millie, earnestly. "Why not? He has done nothing to make us very grateful to him, and he's no such pleasant company either," answered Phil in a rough, harsh tone. "See how he treats me! I did not tell you before, but, Millie—" he lowered his voice as he said it—"he struck me the other night; yes, struck me a blow that sent me reeling half across the room." "O! Phil, when?" Millie exclaimed anxiously, forgetting Miss Crawford and everything else in the alarm caused by her brother's words. "Where was I? How was it that I didn't know anything about it?" "You were asleep, dear. You had a headache and had gone to bed, and I took care not to make a noise, for I didn't want to wake you. I only looked at uncle; and, coward that he is, he slunk off to his room without speaking. He had been drinking, of course," said Phil; "but if he should dare to do it again, or touch you, I'll—" He did not finish his sentence, but he drew himself up, and shook back the hair from his forehead with such an expression of hatred and revenge on his face that Millie shuddered. "Phil, don't look so," she said. "You need not fear that he will ever strike me. He loves me too dearly for that. You know I can do almost anything with him." "Except make him give up his bad companions and bad habits; and unless you can do that, I don't see of what use your influence is, Millie," returned Phil with a short, bitter laugh. "For my part," he added, "I think it's a mercy poor aunt died when she did. He'd have broken her heart before now." Millie thought it wiser to say nothing, though she could not suppress the weary sigh that came from the very bottom of her heart, as rising from the door-step she began walking slowly back to the place they now called home. Phil kept pace with her, looking miserable and gloomy. Very soon, however, Millie's face broke into a smile again, and she cheerfully started a new subject of conversation. "Dinner is all ready for you, Phil. Aren't you hungry?" "No, it's too hot to be hungry. Besides, who could eat in this vile atmosphere?"