"Right tol tiddy-iddy" chorus, the boys joined in it, and just when the old man least expected it, a dab of mud was thrown, completely plastering over the solitary spectacle glass, and then another, extinguishing the candle against the wall with a hiss, and bringing it to the ground, while the mirth in the cart grew more uproarious than before.

"Come on," exclaimed Mouldy; "it's no use stopping here any longer; our wan's up at the furder end."

Catching tight hold on the tails of Mouldy's coat, I followed in his footsteps in the direction indicated.

About twenty yards from the spot at which we entered, there was one of these bits of candle stuck against the wall, supported by an old "corkscrew" knife, the screw being wedged in between the green wet bricks, and the broken blade serving as a candle-holder. The light was about three feet from the ground, and squatted in the reflection of it was a ragged and dirty old man, mending a boot. He had the lid of a fish-basket for a seat, and his tools were an old dinner fork and a bit of twine. The fork was for boring holes in the leather; and when he had made a hole, the old man would straighten the end of the twine between his lips, and hold up the dilapidated boot to the candlelight, the better to see where to make Evidently he as well as his friend Ripston was the hitch. He had spectacles on-at least a pair used to the place; for while they stepped along of rims, with one glass in-and certainly it did without hesitation, I could scarcely put one foot make a queer picture to see the old fellow puck- before the other without slipping along the oozy ering up his mouth, and with his head on one side, floor, or running foul of cart-shafts and tracemaking the most of the solitary glass; his hand chains, which the little light shed by the few shaking so all the while, that even when he had candles failed to render distinguishable from the spied the hole in which the twine was to go, he thick darkness. Besides, nobody's candle but was quite half a minute before he could make the one by which the old "miser" (he was a poor good the stitch. Besides revealing him, the old old used-up Punch-and-Judy man, as I afterwards man's candle shone on the wheel and side of a cart ascertained) was mending his boots, had a chance a few yards distant. The body of the cart was of showing much light about the place, each one hidden in the darkness, but, as might be known being surrounded by a mob of boys and young by their laughing and scrambling, there were sev-men, squatting, some on the wet ground, and eral boys in it, and they were amusing themselves by pelting the old man's candle with mud.

"It's old Daddy Riddle, isn't it?" observed Ripston, as the boys stopped for a moment to see the fun.

"Yes, the old beggar," replied Mouldy. "Serve him right. Ha! ha! See that, Smiffield?" (it was because a dab of mud struck the old man on the forehead that Mouldy laughed.) "Hain't it a lark?"

"Why does it serve him right? What has he done to them?" I asked.

"What's he done? Why, he's a miser," replied Mouldy, with much disgust. "They do say that all his money-hundreds and thousands, and all in gold-is hid under a stone somewheres under these arches. Lor' send we might fall acrost that stone-eh, Rip?"

But Ripston was otherwise engaged, and couldn't answer. A well-aimed lump of mud had knocked the boot out of the miser's hand just as he was succeeding in pushing his twine through a hole he had bored, and now he was on his hands and knees groping in the dark to find his old boot again. Such a roar of laughter arose from the cart where the boys were, as made the vaulted roof ring again, and Ripston laughed as loud as anybody.

"Do let me finish the job, there's good lads," exclaimed the old man, when he had found his property. "If you'll only leave off pelting just as long as I can put half-a-dozen more stitches, you shall have the candle to toss or play cards by, just as you like."

"All right, daddy; sing us another song, and we'll be mum as hysters," called some one from the cart.

"Well, well, what shall I sing you?" "Jolly Nose," "Hot Codlings," "Tippity Witchit."

Hot codlings, however, were in a majority; and in his high, cracked, shaky voice the old man began the song, at the same time making the most of the truce time to finish his cobbling. When he had got through the first verse, and began the

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some on wisps of straw, playing cards or gambling with halfpence. As could be seen, some of the players had a bottle amongst them, and all were smoking short pipes, and swearing and laughing at a fine rate.

Presently we came to a standstill.

"Hold hard, Smiffield; this is our wan," said Mouldy; and the next instant I could hear him, although I could not see him, climbing the spokes of the waggon-wheel.

"How is it?" asked Ripston.

"All right," replied Mouldy, from the van.

"Up you goes, then," observed Ripston to me. "Here, put your foot on the spokes, and I'll give you a bunch up."

He did so. He "bunched " me so hard, that I was bundled hands and knees on to the floor of the vehicle.

As Ripston was climbing in, he was heard to sniff loudly. "I thought as how you said it was all right?" said he, addressing Mouldy, in a disappointed voice. "You hain't got no straw in there, I'll lay a farden."

"Not a mite," replied Mouldy.

"I know'd it," returned Ripston. "I know'd it as soon as my nose came acrost the wheel. 'Hallo!' thinks I, 'it's been coals to-day.' Jigger coals, I say;" and the young fellow floundered sulkily into the van.

"I should give warnin', if I was you Rip," observed Mouldy, playfully. "I should write to the cove as the wan belongs to, and tell him that if he can't keep off coals, and do nothink else 'cept move goods, so that there may alwis be a good whack of straw left in the wan, you cert'n must change your lodgin's."

"It ain't on'y there bein' no straw," replied Ripston, savagely, "it's the jolly coal dust that gets up your nose when the wind blows under neath and up the cracks. What do you sa Smiffield ?"

"Is this where we are goin' to sleep ?" "This is the crib, and you are welcome to share on it," replied Mouldy, hospitably.

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"But whereabouts is the bed?" I asked. "The what?" asked Mouldy.

"The bed. There is a bed, isn't there?" "Oh, yes; a stunner; all stuffed choke full of goose's feathers, and a lot of pillars and blankets, and that. They're about here somewheres!" And Mouldy went round the van scraping with his foot. "Where is that bed, Rip ?" continued he; "jiggered if I can find it."

"It's all accordin' to what sort of a taste you've got," said Ripston; some fellows don't care how cold they lay, so long as they lay soft. Other fellows are all t'other way, and 'ud sooner sleep in a brick-kil than anywheres. How do you like it, Smiffield ?"

"I like to sleep warm, and soft as well," was my tearful answer.

"What! and both at once, I s'pose," sneered Mouldy. "I wish you might get it. If you're

Ripston, whose appreciation of his friend's fun was of the keenest, only laughed, without answer-goin' to be piller, down with you; if you ain't, ing.

"Oh! ah! I recollect now, Smiffield !" said Mouldy, seriously; "it was seized with the rest of our furniture when we had the brokers in the other day. Get out with you! comin' and cockin' it over us with your talk about beds. Hark here! this is our bed"-and he rapped with his bootheel on the boards-"if it ain't soft enough for you, get underneath; which it's mud up to your ankles."

say so, and let somebody else. We don't want no snivellin' in our wan neither, so I can tell yer, jolly young watery head! I'm sorry as we was fools enough to take up with yer!"

I hastened as well as I was able to explain to Mouldy that I was crying because I couldn't help it, and not to give him offence. I assured him that I was quite willing to do anything to make things comfortable; and that if he would show me how to be pillow, I would go at it at once.

"Don't you mind him," observed the softer- "It don't want no showing," replied Mouldy, hearted Ripston, when he had had his laugh out; somewhat mollified. "Piller's the one that lays "it ain't so comfor'ble as in general, Smiffield, down for the others to lay their heads on. There 'cos of the want of straw. Why, sometimes we can't be anything plainer than that, can there? finds as much straw in this wan as would fill-He's soft for their heads; and they keeps him well, a sack I was goin' to say, but werry nigh. warm. That squares it comfor'ble, don't yer see?" That's fine, don't you know! Just you fancy Here, out of the way," exclaimed Ripston, at comin' in on a cold night, thinkin' what a precious the same time huddling down into a corner of the miserable cove you are, and how you are a-goin' van; "don't let us have any more talk about it; to get them aches agin in all the knobby parts of I'm piller; come on." your bones wot presses agin the planks! You think this, and reg'ler in the blues you climbs up into your wan, and there you finds a whole lot of straw-dry straw mind you-and you've only got to rake it together, and bury your head and shoulders in it! Oh!"

And the bare recollection of the luxury made Ripston draw in his breath, with a noise as though he was sipping hot and delicious soup.

"But isn't it cold when you undress yourself?" I asked.

"Dunno," replied Ripston, shortly; "never tried it."

"Never tried undressing yourself to go to bed ?" "The last time I was undressed,-altogether, don't you know," said Ripston, " was-ah, last August, if I recollects right. It was when the plums was ripe, anyhow. You recollects the time, Mouldy; the werry last time we went into the Serpentine. Lor' bless your silly young eyes, Smiffield; if we was to go undressin' and coddlin' of ourselves up, what time do you think we should get up in the mornin'? We've got our livin' to get, don't you know ?"

"We sha'n't be up very early to-morrow mornin' if we don't mind," yawned Mouldy; "it must be close upon twelve now. Come on, let's turn in if we're a-goin to."

"I'm ready," replied Ripston. "Stop a bit, though-who's a-goin' to be piller?"

I didn't know in the least what Ripston meant, so I took no notice of his question.

"There's alwis a shyness about bein' pillar when there ain't no straw," laughed Ripston. "Will you be piller, Smiffield ?" asked Mouldy. I felt so perfectly wretched that I didn't care what I was; I told them so.

"Well, we don't want to be hard on you," observed Mouldy; "but now that there's three on us, we may as well enjoy ourselves. You haven't no call to be piller without you like, you know."

Now, you do as I do, Smiffield," exclaimed Mouldy, at the same time laying down. But to do as he did was impossible. In the greediest manner he monopolised the whole of Ripston's body, leaving no piller" for my head to repose on but such as was afforded by Ripston's legs. But there was no use in grumbling, so down I lay.

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"Do you feel like going to sleep right off, Rip?" asked Mouldy, after a silence of a few minutes. "Course I does; I was half off then, afore you spoke; don't you feel like goin' to sleep, Mouldy?"

"I never do somehow arter them combats. My eyes! fancy three coves a-breakin' into your ship like that, and you only with your shirt and trowsis, and a pair of cutlashes to defend yourself!"

"Yes, they puts things on the stage werry neat at that Shoreditch gaff," replied Ripston, sleepily; "good night."

"Good night."

"I never see such a chap as you; you never likes to lay awake and talk about what you've seen," said Mouldy, in a conciliatory tone.

"Do you mean to say as you've woke a fellow up to tell him that!" said Ripston, with increased ferocity.

"I was on'y goin' to ask you a question, Rip. Do you think it was a real body which the robbers chucked down the well?"

"I'm certain on it; I see'd a hand of it through a hole in the sack," replied Ripston, maliciously.

when the policeman had flashed his lantern light amongst us. Besides, I felt stiff and tired, and as though, as yet, I had had no sleep at all. Without considering the matter further, I curled up into the corner again, with my folded arms for a pillow.

"Now, Smiffield !" exclaimed Ripston, who was no doubt cramped, and excusably cross; "pull yourself together, without you means to stay here all day."

"But it isn't day yet," I grumbled. "How can it be day, when it's quite dark?"

"Oh! don't get a-askin' me none of your riddles. Get up and see if it isn't daylight. Why, it's sunshine. Get up here and have a look."

As he was speaking, Ripston had climbed up to where Mouldy was perched, and, with a little trouble, I, too, climbed up.

Now, where's the sunshine ?" "Where? Why, on the river down there; see," All round about us was dark and dismal indeed; but looking in the direction in which Ripston was pointing, there could be made out what at first seemed like a ball of bright silver. As you looked, however, you found that it was nothing but a round hole, in at which the sun was pouring. It was a wonderful sight-better than any peepshow it had been my lot to see. Looking out at the bright hole, you could see the water of the river all trembling, and, as it were, a-light, and a little bit of blue sky, and a barge laden with hay leisurely floating by.

"Come on," said I, putting a leg over the side of the van.

"Come on where ?" asked Mouldy. "Down there where the sun is; it is better than stopping here in the dark."

"It is all werry well for them as likes it," replied Mouldy, in a surly tone. "If you likes it, you had better go to it."

"But ain't you goin' too-you and Ripston ?" "We are a-goin' to where we always goes," observed Ripston.

"Where's that?"

"Why, to Common Garden, to be sure. Where's the use of going down to the river ?"

"Unless you've got a callin' that way, which p'r'aps you have," put in Mouldy.

"P'r'aps he's goin' a-tottin'," (picking up bones,) said Ripston.

"Much good might it do him!-a farden a pound when he gets 'em, and pelted by the barge coves, who puts it down that everybody as goes for a walk on the shore is arter priggin' coals. Are you goin' a-tottin', Smiffield ?"'

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No," ," I replied; "I don't know how." "Then what caper are you up to ?" "Well, I ain't pertickler. All I want is, something to do to get me a livin'. Barkin' was what I was thinking of. It ain't such a bad way of gettin' a livin', is it ?"

Mouldy looked at Ripston, and both boys laughed.

"Well, cert'ny, you are a jolly liar! Why, you just said that you never had barked for nobody."

More I haven't. I've tried it, though. I was trying it last night, in the market, when you come behind me." "Don't

"'Course he was," observed Mouldy. you 'member, Rip? Oh, yes! you've got a werry tidy voice for barkin', Smiffield; no mistake about that." I was very glad to hear him say this. "You think, then, that I should do at it, Mouldy?"

"How do yer mean-do at it' ?" "Please the man what I worked for-earn my livin'."

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'Well, you might please the man what you worked for, but as for earning your livin' "—and Mouldy finished his remark by jerking his thumb over his shoulder with a manner that was not to be misunderstood.

"It might suit some coves, don't yer know," he continued; "but it didn't suit me. Likewise it didn't suit Ripston."

"Then you've tried it?" I asked, with sinking spirits.

"'Course we have. There's very little we hain't tried-eh, Ripston? Yes, we've tried it, and so has a whole lot of chaps we knows; and what they say is just what we say, and that is, that you won't ketch 'em at it again. There! I'd sooner be a doctor's cove, and go about in a skillington suit with roly buttons. Wouldn't you, Rip ?"

'A'most," replied Ripston. "It is a life! You're up in the mornin' afore you can see, and fust thing it's drivin' the barrow to market while the man what you works for walks on the path; then it's mindin' the barrow while he goes and buys and loads up; then it's home agin with it, and, if it's wegetables, washin' it and settin' of it out; then it's paddlin' about all day long a-hollerin' of it out."

"And that hain't all," said Mouldy. "S'pose it has been a bad day, and the stock's of a handy sort, what'll go in a basket-such as inguns for picklin', or turmut reddishes-out you go agin by yourself in the evenin', a-hawkin' and a-hollerin' of it, till there ain't no lights in the houses 'cept in the top winders, and it's too late to try any longer. And arter all, what'll you get? Why, your wittles. That's right-ain't it, Ripston ?"

"Cept about the wittles; them you don't always get."

This was not a little alarming. From the very first I had made up mind to become a barker; it was that resolution, indeed, and the fancy that it could be brought about so easily-provided I had any music in my voice-which had all along backed up my yearning to leave home. It was the conviction that I had got a musical voice, as was proved by my trials of it in the pig market at Smithfield, which had induced me to go along with Mouldy and the other boy as soon as I was given to understand that they were going near to Covent Garden. Nobody, however, had told me that a barker's life was a jolly one. The young man who had assisted at my father's marriage Never with Mrs. Burke had merely mentioned that he had taken to barking to escape from a job which,

"You was thinkin' of barkin', oh!" said Mouldy. "What put barkin' into your head, Smiffield ?"

แ "My father."

"Father a coster, then ?"

"No; my father is a- -isn't a coster." "Did you ever bark for anybody?" "Oh, no! Father's pal put me up to it. barked for anybody yet. I want to."