billy was a small boy of ten; he was thin and wiry, had a freckled face, and a good deal of short, rather stumpy red hair.

he was by no means young-looking for his ten years; and only that his figure was small, his shoulders narrow, and his little legs sadly like spindles, he might have passed for a boy of twelve or thirteen.

billy had a weight of care upon his shoulders—he had the entire charge of a baby.

the baby was a year old, fairly heavy, fairly well grown; she was cutting her teeth badly, and in consequence was often cross and unmanageable.

billy had to do with her night and day, and[pg 217] no one who saw the two together could for a moment wonder at the premature lines of care about his small thin face.

a year ago, on a certain january morning, billy had been called away from a delightful game of hop-scotch. a red-faced woman had come to the door of a tall house, which over-looked the alley where billy was playing so contentedly, and beckoned him mysteriously to follow her.

"yer'd better make no noise, and take off those heavy clumps of shoes," she remarked.

billy looked down at his small feet, on which some very large and much-battered specimens of the shoemaker's craft were hanging loosely.

"i can shuffle of 'em off right there, under the stairs," he remarked, raising his blue eyes in a confident manner to the red-faced woman.

she nodded, but did not trouble to speak further, and barefooted billy crept up the stairs; up and up, until he came to an attic room, which he knew well, for it represented his home.

he was still fresh from his hop-scotch, and[pg 218] eager to go back to his game; and when a thin, rather rasping woman's voice called him, he ran up eagerly to a bedside.

"wot is it, mother? i want to go back to punch tom jones."

alas! for poor billy—his fate was fixed from that moment, and the wild bird was caged.

"another time, billy," said his mother; "you 'as got other work to see to now. pull down the bedclothes, and look wot's under 'em."

billy eagerly drew aside the dirty counterpane and sheet, and saw a very small and pink morsel of humanity—a morsel of humanity which greeted his rough intrusion on her privacy with several contortions of the tiny features, and some piercing screams.

"why, sakes alive, ef it ain't a baby," said billy, falling back a step or two in astonishment.

"yes, billy," replied his mother, "and she's to be your baby, for i can't do no charring and mind her as well, so set down by the fire, this minute and mind her right away."[pg 219]

billy did not dream of objecting; he seated himself patiently and instantly, and thought with a very faint sigh of tom jones, whose head he so ached to punch.

tom jones would be victorious at hop-scotch, and he would not be present to abate his pride.

well, well, perhaps he could go to-morrow.