early the next morning, long before pepper was awake, tom got up, washed his face and hands in the old cracked hand-basin in one corner of the room, laid a small fire in the grate, and put some matches near it, ready for pepper to strike when he chose to rise. these preparations concluded, he thrust his hands into his ragged trousers pocket and pulled from thence twopence and a halfpenny. the pence he laid on the three-legged stool, by the side of the matches, the halfpenny he put for safety into his mouth. then, with a nod of farewell at the sleeping pepper, and a pat of trusty's head, he shouldered his broom and ran downstairs. the month was january, and at this early hour, for it was not yet eight o'clock, the outside world gave to the little sweeper no warm welcome. there was a fog[pg 191] and thaw, and tom, though he ran and whistled and blew his hot breath against his cold fingers, could not get himself warm. with his halfpenny he bought himself a cup of steaming coffee at the first coffee-stall he came to, then he ran to his crossing, and began to sweep away with all the good-will in the world.

the day, dismal as it was, promised to be a good one for his trade, and tom hoped to have a fine harvest to carry home to pepper and trusty to-night. this thought made his bright face look still brighter. perhaps, in all london, there was not to be found a braver boy than this little crossing-sweeper. he was only twelve years old, but he had family cares on his young shoulders. for six months now—ever since his mother's death—he had managed, he scarcely himself knew how, to keep a home for his little brother, the old dog, and himself. he had proudly resolved that pepper—poor little tender pepper—should never see the inside of a workhouse. as long as he had hands, and wit, and strength, pepper should live with him. not for worlds would he allow himself[pg 192] to be parted from his little brother. in some wonderful way he kept his resolve. pepper certainly grew very white, and weak, and thin; old trusty's ribs stuck out more and more, his one remaining eye looked more longingly every day at the morsel of food with which he was provided; and tom himself knew but too well what hunger was. still they, none of them, quite died of starvation; and the rent of the attic in which they lived was paid week by week. this state of things had gone on for months, tom just managing, by the most intense industry, to keep all their heads above water. as he swept away now at his crossing, his thoughts were busy, and his thoughts, poor brave little boy! were anxious ones.

how very ill pepper was beginning to look, and how strangely he had spoken the night before about trusty! was it possible that his poor life of semi-starvation was beginning to tell not only on pepper's weak body, but on his kind heart? was tom, while working almost beyond his strength, in reality only doing harm by keeping pepper out of the workhouse?[pg 193] would that dreadful workhouse after all be the best place for pepper? and would his fine brave spirit revive again if he had enough food and warmth? these questions passed often through tom's mind as he swept his crossing, but he had another thought which engrossed him even more. he had spoken confidently to pepper about his ability to pay the tax for trusty when the time came round, but in reality he had great anxiety on that point. the time when trusty's tax would be due was still three months away—but three months would not be long going by, and tom had not a penny—not a farthing toward the large sum which must then be demanded of him. it was beginning to rest like a nightmare on his bright spirit, the fact that he might have to break his word to his dying mother, that in three months' time the dear old dog might have to go. after all, he, not pepper, might be the one faithless to their dear old trusty.

as he swept and cleaned the road so thoroughly that the finest lady might pass by without a speck on her dainty boots, he resolved,[pg 194] suffer what hunger he might, to put by one halfpenny a day toward the necessary money which much be paid to save trusty's life. with this resolve bright in his eyes and firm on his rosy lips, he touched his cap to many a passer-by. but what ailed the men and women, the boys and girls, who walked quickly over tom's clean crossing? they were all either too busy, or too happy, or too careless, to throw a coin, even the smallest coin, to the hungry, industrious little fellow. his luck was all against him; not a halfpenny did he earn. no one read his story in his eyes, no one saw the invisible arms of pepper round his neck, nor felt the melting gaze of trusty fixed on his face. no one knew that he was working for them as well as for himself. by noon the wind again changed and fresh snow began to fall.

tom knew that now his chance was worse than ever, for surely now no one would stop to pull out a penny or a halfpenny—the cold was much too intense. tom knew by instinct that nothing makes people so selfish as intense cold.[pg 195]

when he left home that morning he had only a halfpenny in his pocket, consequently he could get himself no better breakfast than a small cup of coffee. the cold, and the exercise he had been going through since early morning, had raised his healthy appetite to a ravenous pitch, and this, joined to his anxiety, induced him at last to depart from his invariable custom of simply touching his cap, and made him raise an imploring voice, to beseech for the coins which he had honestly earned.

"please, sir, i'm h'awful cold and 'ungry—give us a penny—do, for pity's sake," he said, addressing an elderly gentleman who was hurrying quickly to his home in a square close by.

would the gentleman stop, pause, look at him? would he slacken his pace the least morsel in the world, or would he pass quickly on like those cross old ladies whom he had last addressed? his heart, began to beat a trifle more hopefully, for the old gentleman certainly did pause, pushed back his hat, and gave him—not a penny, but a quick, sharp glance from under two shaggy brows.[pg 196]

"i hate giving to beggars," he muttered, preparing to hurry off again. but tom was not to be so easily repressed.

"please, sir, i ain't a beggar. i works real 'ard, and i'm h'awful 'ungry, please, sir."

he was now following the old gentleman, who was walking on, but slowly, and as though meditating with himself.

"that's a likely story!" he said, throwing his words contemptuously at poor tom: "you, hungry! go and feed. you have your pocket full of pennies this moment, which folks threw to you for doing nothing. i hate that idle work."

"oh! h'indeed, sir, i ain't nothink in 'em—look, please, sir."

a very soiled pocket, attached to a ragged trouser, was turned out for the old gentleman's benefit.

"you have 'em in your mouth," replied the man. "i'm up to some of your dodges."

at this remark tom grinned from ear to ear. his teeth were white and regular. they gleamed in his pretty mouth like little pearls;[pg 197] thus the heart-whole smile he threw up at the old gentleman did more for him than all the tears in the world.

"well, little fellow," he said, smiling back, for he could not help himself, "'tis much too cold now to pull out my purse—for i know you have pence about you—but if you like to call at my house to-morrow morning,—russell square, you shall have a penny."

"please, sir, mayn't i call to-day?"

"no, i shan't be home until ten o'clock this evening."

"give us a penny, please, now, sir, for i'm real, real 'ungry." this time poor tom very nearly cried.

"well, well! what a troublesome, pertinacious boy! i suppose i'd better get rid of him—see, here goes——"

he pulled his purse out of his pocket—how tom hoped he would give him twopence!

"there, boy. oh, i can't, i say. i have no smaller change than a shilling. i can't help you, boy; i have not got a penny."

"please, please, sir, let me run and fetch the [pg 198]the change."

"well, i like that! how do i know that you won't keep the whole shilling?"

"indeed, yer may trust me, sir. indeed, i'll bring the eleven-pence to—russell square to-morrer mornin'."

the old gentleman half-smiled, and again tom showed his white teeth. if there was any honesty left in the world it surely dwelt in that anxious, pleading face. the old gentleman, looking down at it, suddenly felt his heart beginning to thaw and his interest to be aroused.

"oh, yes; i'm the greatest, biggest fool in the world. still—no, i won't; i hate being taken in; and yet he's a pleasant little chap. well, i'll try it, just as an experiment. see here, young 'un; if i trust you with my shilling, when am i to see the change?"

"at eight o'clock to-morrer mornin', sir."

"well, i'm going to trust you. i never trusted a crossing-sweeper before."

"h'all right, sir," answered tom, taking off his cap and throwing back his head.

"there, then, you may spend twopence;[pg 199] bring me back tenpence. god bless me, what a fool i am!" as he hurried away.

this was not the only favor tom got that day; but soon the lamps were lighted, sleet and rain began to fall, and no more business could be expected.