Sam, or, A good name

Material Information

Sam, or, A good name
Series Title:
Round the globe library
Portion of title:
Good name
Keary, M ( Maud )
Frederick Warne and Co ( Publisher )
Billing and Sons ( Printer )
Dalziel Brothers ( Engraver )
Place of Publication:
Frederick Warne and Co.
Billing and Sons
Publication Date:
Physical Description:
136, [4] p., [2] leaves of plates : ill. (some col.) ; 16 cm.


Subjects / Keywords:
Christian life -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Poverty -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Brothers and sisters -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Sick -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Theft -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Kindness -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Abduction -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Publishers' catalogues -- 1881 ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1881
Publishers' catalogues ( rbgenr )
novel ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage:
England -- London
England -- Surrey -- Guildford
Target Audience:
juvenile ( marctarget )


General Note:
Added title page and frontispiece engraved by Dalziel and printed in colors.
General Note:
Publisher's catalogue follows text.
Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
Statement of Responsibility:
by Mrs. Henry Keary ; with coloured illustrations.

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Holding Location:
Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management:
This item is presumed to be in the public domain. The University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries respect the intellectual property rights of others and do not claim any copyright interest in this item. Users of this work have responsibility for determining copyright status prior to reusing, publishing or reproducing this item for purposes other than what is allowed by fair use or other copyright exemptions. Any reuse of this item in excess of fair use or other copyright exemptions may require permission of the copyright holder. The Smathers Libraries would like to learn more about this item and invite individuals or organizations to contact The Department of Special and Area Studies Collections ( with any additional information they can provide.
Resource Identifier:
026831650 ( ALEPH )
ALH2802 ( NOTIS )
62137285 ( OCLC )

Full Text

The Baldwin Library

- -



" Sam walked boldly into the Shop."













HETTY; or, Fresh Water-Cresses.
SAM; or, A Good Name.
PHILIS PHIL; or, Alone in the World.
NAUGHTY NIX; or, The Vain Kitten.

-A___________^ ^


SAM'S FIRST STRUGGLE .................... .............................. 5

SAM DOES A STROKE OF BUSINESS ......... .......................... 14

SAM PUZZLED .................. ......................................... 26

SAM SCALES THE ROOF ............ ......... ........................ 37

SAM ENTRAPPED.................... ...................................... 46

SAM MISSING ....................................... ....................... 56

SAM NOT FOUND........................................................... 63

SAM KEPT IN THE DARK ................................ ............. 7

SAM AMONGST THIEVES ................................................. 82



SAM'S RESOLUTION ........................ ............................... 89

SAM-WHERE IS HE? ....................................... .... 97

SAM IN THE POLICE COURT .......................................... 105

SAM CONSIDERS ......................................................... 115

SAM DECIDES FOR HIMSELF ............................................ 123

SAM NEVER REGRETS HIS CHOICE ................................... 133



ONE-two-three-four. Sam counted four on his
fingers, and then he paused to consider, the tip of
the first finger of his right hand resting all the
while on the tip of the third finger of his left hand.
Why he counted four, or what was the exact result
of his calculation, did not appear. Perhaps Sam
was reckoning that he had had "no reg'lar dinner"
for four days-perhaps he was counting the weeks
since he had been home-Sam had a home, and in
his own odd way he loved it too, for his mother
"was there, and his little sister, and his father; but
his father was selfish, with a heart harder and colder
than the paving stones, and this was why Sam left
his home, and loved his freedom and the streets
better than his home.
Having balanced his calculation to his own satis-
faction, Sam thrust both his hands into the pockets
of his trousers-they were not very trustworthy-

6 5AM.

and then started off on his flight, half running and
half dancing, sideways, after the fashion of chimney
sweeps on May Day, singing or whistling some
popular street tune as the fancy seized his whimsical
nature. He carried a smile on his lips, and always
looked ready to laugh, but poor Sam could cry
sometimes, when the nights were long and dark,
and there was not a star to be seen anywhere. On
principle, Sam never cried in the daytime, because,
in the first place, he was afraid somebody might see
him and pity him, and carry him off to a reforma-
tory; and, in the next place, he could not bear the
sight of anybody's tears, much less his own, they
made him feel so bad he did not know how to stop
them; but at night, he could have a good cry when
he was lying down on the pavement, and let his
tears run down into the gutter, and away through
the iron grating, and no one would know which
way they went, or whose tears had swollen the
little gutter stream. Sam's life was not all holiday
sunshine. Misery and wretchedness never surprised
him, still less did they frighten him, for although he
had never too much to eat, he generally picked up
enough half-pence to keep him from starving.
Sam was between eleven and twelve years of age,
but he neither looked nor felt like a child. He was
sharp and active, pale and thin, with large eyes,
which changed their expression, and almost their
colour, so often and so rapidly, it gave one the idea,
to watch him, that Sam and his eyes were keeping
up a lively conversation quite between themselves.


Sam wore nothing to cover his head but his own
shaggy yellowish matted hair. His shoes are sole-
less. His clothes, which seemed to be made up of
rags and patches, are kept together by an old neck-
handkerchief tied round his waist instead of his
throat, and answers the purpose of braces and all,
even serving as a pocket sometimes when Sam's
regular pockets are only holes, and will hold nothing.
Like a desert, London has its dens,-dens in which,
instead of wild beasts, poverty and wickedness and
vice lurk and crouch and hide themselves.
Sam's home is in the midst of these, in a long,
narrow, dark, and dirty street, one only of many
other dark and dirty streets so narrow that as you
walk through them you almost fancy they must be
slowly, although imperceptibly, drawing closer and
closer together, and you feel as if you must be
smothered, and you look up through the thick
atmosphere to be quite sure that the streak of dull
gray sky that passes for blue sky in those smoke-
darkened regions, has not really grown less and less.
Sam's home is in a garret under the roof. The
ceiling is low and sloping. A small four-paned
skylight patterned and festooned with blackened
cobwebs is its only window. Just enough thick
yellow light streams down to show the hideous
scars and cracks on the soiled plastered walls,-just
enough to add gloom to the room's dull corners-just
enough to lend paleness to the white face of the
sick woman who lies so still upon her miserable bed,

8 SAM.

-just enough to make the big round tear glisten
on the little girl's cheek as she sits by her mother's
side weeping and watching. Poor child, those pink-
rimmed eyes of hers looked as if they had never
been dry for days. And now she turns her head
and glances over her thin shoulder. A warning
finger is on her lips; she hears-how is it possible
to distinguish any sound amidst the dull deafening
din which goes on for ever and for ever, and never
stops ?-but Lizzie hears the familiar voice and the
shrill whistle, and the rapid plip, plap, of active feet in
soleless shoes on the worn stairs, and she whispers a
gentle "hush !"-so faint, lest it should waken her
mother that it scarcely penetrated thetwilightcorners
of the room. Lizzie cannot understand Sam or his
strange ways, but she loves him; yes, loves him, oh,
so much. Love has not yet been scared away from
her young heart,-a heart which was well-nigh
broken but not hardened by its constant beatings
and throbbings. Sam opened the door noisily, and
then paused in the open doorway as if silently sur-
veying the scene before him. He neither sang nor
whistled now, for there was something in the quiet
stillness of that room which startled and almost
awed him, and made him hold his breath.
"Hush, Sam, hush! Mother's ill, so very ill;
she's just gone off to sleep, please don't wake her. She
was so weary and bad, and yet she couldn't get to
sleep." As she spoke poor Lizzie's words sounded
more like sobs than words. "You'd better come in


though, and shut- the door, or the nasty noise in
the house will wake her."
Sam closed the rickety old door as quietly as if
he had been a cat in the presence of a coveted bird
or mouse-Sam had the knack of moving about
and doing everything wonderfully quietly when it
suited his purpose,-and then Sam crept slowly and
noiselessly across the room on his bare heels with
his toes well up in the air to be quite out of the
way. It was Sam's own peculiar mode of tip-toe-
ing. Necessity is the mother of invention; it pre-
vented the loose upper leathers of his boots from
flipping and flapping against the boards of the
floor, which they must certainly have done had
Sam walked on his toes instead of his heels. One
or two half-finished artificial paper flowers lay on
his mother's bed. Their bright leaves and brighter
blossoms were a striking contrast to the poor
withering, fading woman. It was not the- contrast
which struck Sam; perhaps that never entered his
mind, but it struck him and told him, too, more.
clearly and plainly than any words Lizzie could
have uttered, that his mother must indeed be very
ill, it was so unusual for her to be in bed and sleep-
ing in broad daylight-'daylight that is so precious,
so golden to those who have no money to buy
candles. When it was bitter cold and they had no
fire he had known her stay in bed for warmth's
sake, but then she would be hard at work all the
while making flowers to sell the nest day; but he

10 SAMM.

never recollected her going to sleep and leaving them
untouched by her side. Sam did not like the aspect
of things at all; his face twisted and twitched until
it looked more convulsive and strange than the
mouths made by a torn sail in half a gale of wind.
It required a great struggle; nevertheless Sam's
determination gained the day, and he swallowed all
his tears, not even one appearing to make his eyes
look just a little watery. As we have said, it was
contrary to Sam's own rules ever to be seen crying.
When he felt quite sure he could trust himself and
had pretty fairly got over the disagreeable choking
feeling occasioned by the tears which he had worked
so hard to swallow, he said to Lizzie in a deep
low whisper:
'" I say, Lizzie, mother's precious bad, ain't she ?"
Once more Lizzie's warning finger is on her lips,
and she only nods her head, which means, "Yes,
The poor woman's sleep was so light it was
easily disturbed. She could doze on through the
monotonous din and continual roll, roll, roll of
waggons and. carts which from a distance beyond
penetrated the walls of the lonely room and sounded
like the rumbling of thunder; but Sam's low hoarse
whisper awoke her.
"Who's that, Lizzie ?" she asked, half turning
round; "is it your father, or Phil ?"
"No, mother, isn'tt neither father nor Phil it's
Sam, our Sam."

"I'm glad it's Sam." Mrs. Trim shaded her eyes,
for they were weak and dim, with her thin hands
that she might see Sam more clearly. "That's
right, Sam; I'm glad you've come. I hope 'tis for
good and all, too. Sam, you don't know how ill I've
been. I caught a chill standing about in my wet
clothes that day-you know, when I was waiting
about for your father and he never came. But
Sam, tell me you've come to stop; we could manage
very nicely."
"No, mother, I can't; I be afeard of father."
You needn't be afraid of him, Sam; he's gone;
he has never been home since the day I fell ill.
You needn't fear he'll ever trouble you again; we
can't earn enough to satisfy him."
"I s'pose he expects to live like a gen'lman," said
Sam. "Don't you perceive, mother, that's just
how it would be. If I was to come home and he
was to find it out, and that we was living comfo'ble
like on our own property, he'd soon turn up sharp
and quick."
Mrs. Trim couldn't help smiling at Sam's idea.
"Don't you understand, mother, he'd scent us
out as easy as a dog living on his own account
would hunt up a bone, and then we should
keep ourselves and him into the bargain. My
lodgings ain't 'spensive neither,but a deal cheaper nor
ever you could offer, 'cause I pay's nothing for them.
'Tis as this-wet nights I creeps under arches and
such like, and rolls up nice and tight to keep my-

12 SAM..

self warm and dry; but when the clouds keeps
themselves to themselves and don't behave as if
they was at a burying, why then I sleeps with all
my windows open, and don't trouble to turn in
under any cover. So don't you see rent and taxes
don't stand me in much; that's a save to begin
with. I must teach that tax-gatherer fellow to
touch his hat when I hits up against him. He
haven't never done it yet,-and then, if I am terri-
ble hard pushed I could earn a trifle more and give
up some of my amusements. It must be done,
too," added Sam, assuming the tone and manner of
a grown up man-"now mother's bad, and then
when I've got a copper or so in these here pockets
of mine I can creep and sneak up the stairs as if I
was shivering with hunger, and father, if he was to
catch sight of me, he'd never think I'd got any
earnings in my pocket 'cause I wasn't whistling nor
singing, but he'd say to his-self, 'Sam's hungry; I'd
best not make his acquaintance.' "
I am hungry now," said Lizzie in a low voice-a
sort of half a whisper.
Sam pretended not to hear what poor Lizzie said,
but he did, and the short piteous little sentence
seemed somehow to stop the conversation. Sam
scratched the back of his ear as if thinking of
something very particular, and then clenched his
fists in his empty pockets with an air of determin-
ation. Without saying another word he nodded
significantly to his mother, turned on his heel, and


in a moment, before she could stop him, was half-
way down the old worn staircase.
"Couldn't stand that," said Sam to himself when
he found himself outside the miserable garret.
"Couldn't stand that-can't put up with that-
Father's gone-thlt ain't bad luck, but mother's
bad, and Lizzie ,: ; Iry; she needn't have said so,
she looked it. A blind kitten could have said that
brat haven't had too many good dinners."
Sam felt very much as if he wished it was dark,
that he might hold his head over a gutter and have a
good cry; and yet he was glad it was still day, for
he had no time for crying. "I am hungry now,"
still rang in his ears and ranged through his heart.
"I am hungry now !" He must be up and earning,
in order that Lizzie might no longer be hungry. "If
I was rich and had nothing to do," thought Sam," I
wonder if I should cry all day? No, that I wouldn't,
I'd laugh out loud." Sam tried if he could not laugh
then-he made such a strange imitation he startled

' WHAT a boy Sam is," observed his mother, as
Sam shut the door behind him and vanished down
the stairs even more quickly than he had come up-
leaving Mrs. Trim and Lizzie once more alone with
their wretchedness. He is so odd-such a queer
little fidget he can't sit still for five minutes together.
I wonder what has made him start off now in such
a hurry. You didn't say anything to hurt or vex
him Lizzie, did ye ? You never can be quite sure
how Sam will take your words." No, Lizzie felt
quite sure she had said nothing that could have
put him out. Lizzie little thought or dreamed
that it was those few words, "I am hungry
now," that she had uttered which had so deeply
touched her brother Sam, that he had rushed away
with the hope of finding some means of earning a
few pence in order that he might be able to buy food
to satisfy her hunger.
"Sam never was like any other boy," continued
Mrs. Trim, he takes things so differently-so unlike
his brother Phil. Why you may talk to Phil by the



hour and try and persuade him, but you wouldn't
move him an inch, or shake him out of his sulks-
good words have no better effect than cross ones-
there he's just like his father, he wouldn't listen to
good advice-we shouldn't have been dragged down
so if he had only been persuaded by me-but it's no
good talking now, it's too late." Mrs. Trim sighed
sadly, she always did when she thought of her hus-
band, or spoke of her eldest boy Phil. She was
afraid Phil was turning after his father in more
ways than one, and was going wrong fast. Mrs.
Trim had not always lived amongst the dens of
London; both she and her husband came of respect-
able parents, and had themselves begun their married
life respectably although only in a small humble
way. Her husband had the charge of a railway
book-stall, but in an evil hour he listened to the
voice of the tempter and he took money which
belonged to his employers.
He contrived for some time to hide his dishonesty
successfully,but after a whilethe discovery was made,
and Mr. Trim was discharged from his situation.
Through pity to his poor wife and children he was
neither punished nor prosecuted, but he lost his good
name-and that was punishment enough-for with-
out a character no one would employ him, and he
fell from bad to worse, lower and lower, until he sold
or pawned everything excepting a bed and bedstead
and a few paltry pieces of furniture which were
absolutely necessary for their everyday use. Re-

16 SAM.

duced to the narrowest means they hid themselves
and their misery and their father's crime in the
melancholy garret in which we found them. By
dint of making and selling paper flowers, Mrs. Trim
contrived to gather enough money to keep herself
and her family on the slippery precarious brink of
starvation, but now that illness had seized the poor
woman even this resource seemed stopped, or at all
events lessened for a season.
"I think I feel a little better," said Mrs. Trim,
raising herself up on her bed soon after Sam left
them, "I can't afford to be idle-if you will hand me
the pink paper and the scissors I could finish off a
few roses, and then if you're quick you could twist
the green paper round the wire stems and go out
and try to sell a bunch or so; we've got nothing in
the cupboard for dinner or supper. 0 dear, I do feel
as if a cup of tea or coffee or something nice and hot
would do me a great deal of good, and quite set me
up again. That sleep seems to have refreshed me
very much, but it's terrible waste of time to sleep by
daylight, only I don't believe I closed my eyes all
last night."
"Whilst Lizzie and her mother were busily employ-
ing their hungry aching fingers, Sam was shuffling
and hurrying on and on, through courts, up and down,
in and out a tangle of narrow dirty squalid streets.
He did not look to the right or the left in these, there
"was nothing to be gained, no profits to be reaped
there-he was hurrying towards Oxford Street.


Sam was always pretty certain of doing a good
stroke of business in or about Oxford Street.
Presently Sam sees-there was not much Sam did
not see-he always made good use of his eyes-Sam
sees in a grocer's shop-window, all amongst gay
pyramids of jam-pots and lemons, and acre of
currants and raisins, looking almost like large
ploughed fields, there were such lots of them spread
out-a notice printed in big letters, so big and tall
Sam's eyes had to run up and down each of them
before he could quite make out what letters they
stood for-

Sam thinks when he had read it that that sort
of thing would just suit him. Whilst he was con-
sidering for a moment he caught sight of himself
reflected full length in the plate-glass window, and
Sam came to the conclusion that he did not look
smart enough to go and offer himself then and there,
but there is no time to be lost, so Sam runs off again
as quick as possible-hle knows where to find a
pump-pops his head close under the pump's nose,
pumps with all his might with his right arm, rubs
his face both clean and dry with his two hands-
Sam's towel; thrusts his fingers through his hair-
Sam's pocket comb; tries to smooth it with the
palms of his hands-Sam's brushes; only Sam's hair
never would lie down flat-and then Sam considers
himself dressed Then he starts off again this time


18 SAM.

to apply for the situation. The shop was fragrant
with the delicious smell of oranges and coffee and
lots of other good things, tempting customers, but so
tantalising for Sam. Sam sniffed and sniffed until
his small oddly fashioned nose quivered with delight.
The scent was next best to the taste, but not equal
to it said Sam to himself. Sam walked boldly into
the shop, for he had never done anything to be
ashamed of-neither was he going to do anything
now to make him sneak or be afraid. A tall, pink-
cheeked, frizzy-headed man, carrying a pen behind
his ear, and wearing a long white linen apron
strained tightly round his body and fastened behind
with two bright shining brass buttons, came forward
to meet Sam as he entered-the man had evidently
made up his mind that Sam was either a small
pick-pocket or juvenile thief. Waving his hand
solemnly in the direction of the door he said,-
Come now, youngster, you walk out. We don't
want no such customers as you."
"Please, yer honour, I ain't no customer at all. I
never wants no grocery, and when I do, I doesn't
deal here. I buys my coffee ready-made, and
finished off, like, wi' sugar and milk."
Conie, come, young gentleman, none of your im-
pudence; that sort of thing won't suit us. We
don't allow little vagrants to be hanging about here."
Sam planted his feet on the floor as firmly as the
rickety state of his boots would permit, and then


"Please yer honour, I ain't a wagrant. I'm come
on business."
"Business, indeed! I'll pretty soon teach you, at
all events, that you've no business here, by sending
you about your business."
"I begs your honour's pardon, 'cause you're a bit
out in yer calkelations, for it just happens that I've
come about that ere big ticket in the window; and
if you ain't suited, 1 should like to apply for the
situation of errand boy."
Nothing daunted, Sam looked straight up into
the shopman's face, and anxiously awaited his reply.
The man merely threw back his frizzled head dis-
dainfully and impatiently. Then, withdrawing the
pen from behind his ear, as if to signify that he had
no more time or words to waste upon such a ragged
party, he once more waved his hand towards the
door, uttering a series of k'ss-k'ss, as if he would
drive poor Sam away into the streets with no more
pity or respect than he would have treated some
strayed, wretched mongrel cur. Sam felt angry;
he was just turning it in his mind whether it would
be best to show fight or beat a quiet retreat, when
an old gentleman stepped forward and spoke to him.
He had been watching Sam, and listening to his
conversation with the shopman. He was

"A square-set man, and honest, and his eyes-
An out-door sign of all the warmth within-
Smil'd with his lips."

20 SAM.

Sam thought his smile was as bright and good as
summer sunshine.
"What is your name, my lad ?" asked the old
Sam knew a real gentleman when he saw him, so
Sam pulled the front lock of his hair, and bobbed
his head quickly. Sam could not do it as slowly
and reverently as he would have wished, or the occa-
sion required, he was in such a hurry to look up
again into the kind face lest the smile should be
gone, and only a frown left. Poor Sam met with
more frowns in the world than smiles-he could
scarcely believe any eyes could really smile for him,
he said.
My name's Sam, sir."
Sam who, my man ?"
The old gentleman perceived by the working of
Sam's eyes and brow that there was something
clever in him-something in him to deal with be-
yond an ordinary little boy of his age.
Sam Trim, sir-leastways, that's mother's name,
and always was since I've knowed her. Father, he
changes his name pretty often, for convenience' sake.
My name is most times only Sam. I drops the
other end on 'im 'cause I haven't got much to do
with 'em now I'm out on my own account."
"And so you came to inquire about an errand-
boy's place ?"
"Yes, sir 1" Sam pulled his hair again, but kept
his eye well fixed on the gentleman's face---" Yes,
sir only that gentl'man"-Sam nodded his head


in the direction of the shopman-" don't seem to
fancy that I should suit."
"Ishould thinknot," observed the man, with sneer
prolonged and strong enough to blow out a candle.
"Can anybody speak for you, or give you a good
name ? Have you brought a recommendation ?"
asked the old gentleman.
Sam's hopes fell with his countenance. He did
not know anybody who would speak for him, neither
did he know exactly what the gentleman meant by
"a good name."
Or your father ?" continued the old gentleman-
"would anybody speak for him ?"
Sam considered an instant.
No," he said, "there ain't nobody, as I knows of,
as would say a good word for he. Mother, she
sticks up for him sometimes, but 'tisn't much she
can say for him. There never was much good in
he, and he's getting' worse and worse. Just 'cause
mother's bad, and can't earn enough to keep him, as
he always likes to be kept, precious idle, he's gone
and left her and our Lizzie to shift for themselves:
he says it's no use his biding along wi' them, 'cause,
if he works, he can't get no more than he wants to
make his-self comfo'ble. Father likes pickin'-up
a living, 'cause that comes easy. So I thought, if I
could get into a respectable situation, I could afford
to help mother and Lizzie a bit."
"A very laudable and praiseworthy desire, my
boy. Where does your mother live ?"

22 SAM.

In Castle Street, sir; the top room, first turning
to the left when you get up under the roof-mother
choose it 'cause it's got a sky-window as looks right
up into the sky, and don't want no blinds nor shut-
ters, 'cause there ain't nobody up there as can look
in-only skylarks-and we don't see none of them
in our part."
"And may I ask how you employ yourself-
what your occupation is at present ?"
Sam looked puzzled.
I 'spose, sir, you wishes to know how I manages
to keep myself independent ?"
The gentleman smiled.
"Yes, exactly-if you can manage to do so."
"Well, sir, 'tis as this-I've got nothing to pay
for my lodgings, 'cause I sleeps out. When times
are pretty good, I gets plenty of ha'pence to- keep
myself from starving holding gentlemen's horses,
and opening cab-doors, and selling cigar-lights, and
such like."
"I am very sorry for you, my lad," said the old
gentleman, but I am afraid you will find it very
difficult to get respectably employed unless you can
bring a good character. If you can get one from
anybody, or earn a good name, you may come to
me, and I will see what can be done for you; here
is my name and address. As a little encouragement,
I will give you some tea and sugar, and a few other
little articles, to take home for your mother."
The fine, dashing shopman looked and felt ter-


ribly humbled at being obliged to weigh out and tie
up parcels of tea and sugar, and candles, and cheese,
and soap, for such as Sam; but he bowed very low,
and expressed his grateful thanks to the old gentle-
man when he instructed him to place the goods to
his account.
Ah! my poor boy, you have yet to learn that 'a
good name is rather to be chosen than great riches.'"
Sam looked up very searchingly into the old
gentleman's face as he repeated these words, as if
he would like to be taught how to get a.good name;
but he did not venture to ask, lest he should make
him go to school, or clutch him off into a reforma-
tory. Sam considered his education quite finished;
he could read, and write, and count up and add to-
gether after a fashion. This amount of learning fell
to Sam's share when he was quite a little boy, before
his father lost his situation. Sam did not know
how to thank the gentleman as he ought, as one
after the other the parcels were placed in his arms
and put into his hands. He could only bob his
head, for his hands and his arms were too fully en-
gaged to pull his hair. Sam was amazed and puzzled,
too, how to carry all the parcels safely home without
dropping one; but the words the gentleman had
spoken about a good name being rather to be chosen
than great riches, puzzled him even more, and he
took as much pains to pack them safely away in his
memory, without losing one, as he did to stow away
the precious parcels in his pockets and arms. As

24 SAM.

Sam trudged along, he repeated the words over and
over again, lest he should forget them. Sam had
often looked into the jeweller's windows, and seen
"all the bright and glistening jewels, and all the gold
chains and ornaments, that shone as bright as the
sun. Sam thought the sun must be made of gold,
and the stars too-or more likely that the stars were
full of those whitish stones that winked and blinked
at him as he stood and looked at them in the shop-
windows, just as the stars on a clear frosty night,
seemed to look down on him out of their dark-blue
home, and wink, and blink, and twinkle as if they
were so sleepy they longed to close their bright
eyes, and go to sleep behind the little white, flecky
clouds. But Sam could not think or see how a good
name was rather to be chosen than all those glitter-
ing golden riches.
"Daring little scamps, those, sir," observed the
tall shopman, as he watched Sam with intense
satisfaction pass out of the shop into the street.
"You think so, do you ?" said the old gentleman
to whom the man had addressed the observation.
"Decidedly, sir, there can be no doubt about it.
The police ought to keep a sharper look out and clap
a handful or so of them into gaol every now and
then to rid us of the nuisance."
"Perhaps, sir," said the old gentleman, fixing his
eyes on the shopman-they seemed to look him
through and through, turning him inside out-he
spoke very gravely, "Perhaps, sir, this poor boy ap-


pears in your eyes nothing better than a handful of
breathing dirt and dust, but let me tell you he is:
that child will grow; he will grow up either for good
or for bad; that little fellow, r1', r.-.1, contemptible,
and even dangerous as he seems to you, has within
him the breath of life, a life that cannot die, that will
live for ever. Yes, that poor, yawning, hungry boy
has a soul; and it is the duty of all those who know
the value of a soul to take care that that soul should
not be lost if they can help it. Sir, it is my firm
opinion that the best way to rid ourselves of the
nuisance, as you call it, is not to hand them over to
the care of the police, and crowd our prisons, but to
teach them to labour, working with their hands the
thing that is good. If people were as ready to have
mercy as they are to condemn, and as quick to teach
as they are to sneer, we should have less young
scamps, and fewer old ones. Good morning to you,
sir," and the old gentleman walked out of the shop.
The fine shopman did not much like the gentle-
man's reproof, and he only hoped the young rascal
would not pick his pocket the next time he saw him.

SAM did not linger or loiter, but ran straight to his
mother's home, as fast as he could go. Lizzie's
words, "I am hungry now," still rang in his ear, and
ranged through his heart, adding speed to his swift
little legs. The policemen stared suspiciously at the
rapid little rascal, as he shot by them with his arms
filled with parcels. Once or twice Sam felt half-
inclined to stop, and ask them if they would know
him again when they saw him, and if they were quite
sure they had taken a correct inventory of him; but
Sam did not, for he thought that policemen and
such-like were'safer left alone, and, like savage dogs,
pleasantest at a distance. When Sam reached the
house he was breathless. Nevertheless, he rushed
up the old stairs.
"As in a dream, he seemed to climb
For ever, at the last hereach'd the door."
A light was in the crannies, and he heard his
mother's voice. Sam did not wait to breathe; for
perhaps, Lizzie is hungry now. But the scene is
changed and brighter. His mother is sitting up in
bed, making more flowers-roses she calls them-it


is so long since she has seen any real sweet-smelling
roses that she almost fancies they are like them-
only they lack the scent! and Lizzie, she has just
thrown off her tattered shawl; she has been out,
and has only this instant returned. Kind fortune,
too, had favoured her. She had sold all her paper
flowers, and had bought a loaf; it is on the table,
and Lizzie's hungry eyes are fixed longingly on it-
but not so firmly but that they could wander and
rest on Sam. Sam's eyes glisten with smiles and
tears-not sorrow-tears which dim the eyes, but joy-
tears, which make them sparkle like wave-washed
pebbles on the sunny sea-shore. And Sam's mouth
was open as wide as wide could be Sam's smile.
"Oh, Sam!" exclaimed his mother, as she saw
Sam enter, laden with all his spoils. "Oh, Sam!
where have you been? What have you been doing ?"
Poor woman! she was so accustomed to meet
troubles and trials, and so fearful lest Sam should be
turning after his father and his brother Phil, that
she could only guess that Sam had become possessed
of all his treasures by some unfair or dishonest
means. Lizzie looked on in astonished silence as one
after the other he placed the little parcels on the
table, side by side with the loaf, and then, with a
gasp, he said-
"Mother, it's all my own-at least yours, and
honestly come by, too."
Sam could laugh if he were called a little scamp'
but it vexed him to be thought a thief: and then

28 SAM.

Sam whistled a snatch of his favourite tune, as if to
say, There, mother, doesn't :that show I'm speaking
what's true, and telling no lies ?"
"Then tell me, Sam," she said, still looking as if
she could not quite believe all Sam was saying,
"tell me how you did get all these nice things."
And Sam told his mother all about his going to
offer himself as an errand-boy, and all about the
smart shopman, and how crossly he spoke, and how
high he tossed his nose at him.
"And, mother, he throwed his head back as far,
as if he was playing at bob-cherry, only there wasn't
niver a cherry to catch. I aspectss the old gen'lman
-he's a regular good one he is-didn't consider the
shopman was behaving 'zactly handsome; so he
shoves himself forward, and sort of makes up for it,
and gives me these here groceries."
"Who could he have been, Sam ?" asked Mrs.
Trim. "He must have been some great lord or
somebody very high."
"He wasn't no lord, mother, 'cause I've got his
name and where he lives somewhere; but he was
fust-rate kind, that he was."
Sam searched all his pockets, but could not find
the slip of paper; at last, however, he remembered
where he had put it, and he drew it out of the old
plaid handkerchief which was tied round his waist.
"And what made him give you his name and
address ? Such a grand gentleman couldn't want
to have anything more to say to such as you, Sam."


"He does though, mother, for he said-stop-
wait-Ah I I've got 'em all, right and tight up in
my brain. I thought I hadn't been and let 'em
slip; he said I was to come to him when I'd got a
good name, and then he says a good name is rather
to be chosen than great riches.' Now, it sort of
puzzles me to know what that means. I say,
mother, wouldn't us live comfo'ble if we'd got
heaps of fo'pennies and lots of ha'pennies, and such
"It sounds something like the text-book I used
to learn out of when I was ever such a little thing,
and we always had plenty to eat," said Lizzie.
"You mean my big bible, Lizzie," said her
mother, with a sigh. "Ah! that went along with
all the other things. Somehow, I don't think I
ought to have parted with it. Things have all
gone wrong and crooked since; but your father
wouldn't let us keep a thing he could lay hands
"But what do it mean, mother ?"
"Well, Sam, I suppose it means that if you don't
do what's right-if you do wrong you're sure to
come to want, and worse than want. 'Twas his
good name that your father lost." Mrs. Trim spoke
these words in a whisper. "And look what he has
come to, he can't earn an honest penny, and can't
face daylight. The gentleman didn't ask anything
about hiM, did he, Sam ?"
Yes he did, mother; he wanted to know if

80 SAM.

there wasn't anybody would speak for him, and I
told him there wasn't nobody but you, and that
there wasn't a great deal you could say for him."
"Oh, Sam! supposing he's a magistrate; but
there it's so many years ago, I don't expect they'd
touch him now. They said they wouldn't inter-
fere with him. You didn't tell the gentleman
where we lived ?"
Yes, I did-he asked me; I couldn't tell him a
regular fib just after he'd given me such lots, and
was looking straight at me. Law, mother, he sort
of looked clean through ye; 'twas no use trying to
hide anything from him."
"I didn't wish you to tell him lies, Sam ?" said
Mrs. Trim. "No, I've seen enough of lies; 'twas
lies that were the beginning of all our misery.
Your father said-but never mind now what he
said. I only thought it would have been better not
to have mentioned anything about your father, or
where we lived."
"Mother," said Sam, making a wry face, and
shaking his matted hair. "Mother, I hates lies,
'cause, don't you see, after you've told 'em, you can't
shake 'em off. Somehow, they sort of sticks to a
feller-or follows ye-or meets ye whichever way
you turns-facin' ye and starin' at ye, most as plain
as if they'd got great big eyes. It's pretty clear
father haven't got to say thank'ee to any of the lies
he've a been telling. They've done him and us a
deal more harm nor ever they've done us any good."


Sam did not want to stay and partake of any
of the good things he had brought from the shop,
for he said his supper would be waiting for him,
and he was quite sure that there wasn't more than
enough for his mother and Lizzie; but Mrs. Trim
would not listen to his going away until after he
had had a cup of nice warm tea and some bread and
cheese. They had no fire, so Lizzie ran down stairs
and borrowed some boiling water from the woman
who kept the lodging-house.
"Sam," said Mrs. Trim, as soon as Lizzie was
gone, Sam," she said, in a low voice, timidly as if
half afraid to ask the question, and still more afraid
to hear the answer. "Sam, do you ever see Phil ?"
Yes, mother, sometimes."
"You'll promise me you won't have anything to
do with him, Sam, won't you ?" continued his mother,
I don't expect he'd let me if I wished it," said
Sam; "at least, he wouldn't unless I followed his
ways. He's got amongst a lot of youngsters that are
up to most everything; they's terrible thick, thick
as thieves, and they don't want to have any dealings
with folks that would interfere wi' their business."
"Phil is older than you are, Sam; old enough to
keep himself out of mischief if he'll only do it; but,
Sam, don't you let him entice you away."
"Not if I know it, mother." Sam. began to
whistle and sing, to show his determination, and as
a sign that his conscience was clear,

32 SAM.

"And your father, Sam, do ye know where he
is ?" Mrs. Trim looked anxiously towards the door
to see if it were closed.
"It isn't often I knock up against him," said Sam,
cutting short the tune he was humming. "Phil is
his chum-where you see one, you're pretty sure
to find the other. It don't pay to have anything
to say to me, 'cause I won't go in for all they want
me to do."
The poor woman said no more; the thought of
what her husband and eldest boy had come to
wrung a few burning tears from her worn eyes.
Sam saw them as they rolled one after the other
in mournful procession down her wearied-looking
cheeks; the very tears seemed tired of treading
over and over again the same melancholy tracks.
Sam saw them, and somehow they made him feel
as if his throat was suddenly closing up, and he
could not swallow another morsel. "This won't
do," said Sam to himself; "'tis tears here, and there,
and everywhere-first Lizzie's eyes are set playing
like them fountains in Trafalgar Square; and then,
when they've finished exhibiting and given in,
mother's eyes runs over, and gutters like them
candles when they sits in a draught-'twon't do.
Father and Phil ain't what you would call comedies,
things to make ye laugh till you most split yer
sides, so I'll change the subject, and then we shall
all swallow more easy and comfor'ble like."
"I say, Lizzie," broke out Sam, in rather an un-


natural tone of voice, as she entered the room
"we'll have a day's regular pleasuring soon, when I
can get a holiday, and I haven't got anybody to
ask for it, 'cause I'm my own master, and we'll go
into the country ever so far off from here."
Sam's idea of country was any place where every
foot of ground was not covered and crowded with
human beings and bricks and mortar. "And we'll
take the old gent'lman on our way," continued Sam.
"Law, Sam," said Mrs. Trim, "he lives in one of
those grand places near the park."
"Do he, mother ?" replied Sam. "Lizzie and I
shan't do him any harm. I only want just to go
and look at the outside of his house, and then I
shall know where to find him when I've got any-
thing to say to him."
Lizzie's face quite smiled all over at the thought
of a day's pleasuring with Sam. It was so long
since she had done anything besides pace the hot,
dusty, jostling streets selling her paper flowers.
"When Sam found himself once more alone in the
streets he began to think. The old gentleman was
still uppermost in his mind, and the words he had
spoken still rang in his ears. "A good name is rather
to be chosen than great riches "---as but a short
sentence, made up of easy words, but Sam found it
very difficult to understand. Sam repeated them over
and over again, and turned them this way and that,
and yet he did not seem at all the wiser, neither
did the words appear to him a bit clearer or more

34 SAM.

plain. His mother said they sounded like the
Bible, and Lizzie that the words reminded her of
the text-book out of which she had once learned;
but what was this to Sam ? It did not enlighten
him, for he knew little or nothing of the
Bible; he had never even been taught out of a
text-book. He did not, therefore, prize the words
because they were God's own true words, but be-
cause they were strange glowing words-words
which spoke to the poor ragged boy of a some-
thing which was even more to be desired than great
riches, and that something was perhaps within his
own reach-"a good name!" Would not he try
very hard to find out how he could obtain it ? So
Sam plodded on, seeing nothing, hearing nothing,
only wondering and wondering how it was to be
managed. Invisible though they be, we have each
of us our angels always walking by our side-one
a good angel, guarding and guiding us on our
way, ever bidding us look onwards and upwards,
pointing to Christ as our only hope and to Heaven
our home. The other an evil angel, ever persuad-
ing and tempting us to put off thoughts of Christ
and of Heaven; he loves to delay us on our journey
to parley with us; if he can only do that-only
induce us to stop and listen-to lose time and op-
portunities-his object is gained, we become an
easy prey, the victory is soon won! It was Sam's
good angel who was now whispering into his ear
and cheering him on his way,


If the old gentleman was constantly in Sam's
thoughts, he, for his part, was not forgetful of Sam.
When the old gentleman left the shop and Sam was
out of sight and beyond his reach, he began to
reproach himself for not having secured him for
some ragged school or reformatory. It was true he
had supplied him with a few temporary comforts for
his sick mother, but that was only doing good by
halves and leaving the better half undone. It was
almost like mocking the poor boy to tell him that
"A good name is rather to be chosen than great
riches," without offering him the means or putting
him in the way of obtaining it. When the paltry
parcels of tea and sugar and the other things were
consumed, the boy and his mother would be as
miserable and destitute as ever, and no doubt-
having'failed in his endeavour to gain an honest
though scanty living as an errand boy-he would
give himself up to vagrancy and thieving. The old
gentleman felt quite vexed with himself for having
overlooked the opportunity which was given him
of doing the boy a permanent benefit. He should
never forgive himself if he were one day to see the
boy's name amongst convicted thieves. But what
should prevent his going to the child's own home ?
he had given him his address. The old gentleman
stopped and took his note-book from his pocket.
Surely he had written it there. Yes; but how
very provoking; he remembered being interrupted
Swhilst he was writing it down, and all that remained
of the boy's address or name was "Sam."

36 SAM.

Perhaps the shopman who served him might
recollect it. At all events he would just go back
to the shop and inquire.
"No," with a polite bow, throwing his eyes well
up into the ceiling, and withdrawing a steel pen
from behind his ear, he replied; he was very sorry
but the name of the street in which the boy said
his mother lived had quite escaped him. He sug-
gested that the gentleman might meet the boy
again some day. Some day yes, that was possible,
but was it probable that after seeing him for a few
minutes only he should be able to recognize him
amidst London's ragged rabble ? The shopman
could not say it was. Then again, that some day
might be too late The old gentleman once more
left the shop, lamenting his own defective memory
and fearing that Sam's chance of gaining a good
name was but very slender, and perhaps all because
of his want of thought.

ONE Sunday evening not long after the events
related in the last chapter, it happened that Sam,
as was his wont, was wandering about amongst
alleys and narrow streets, scarcely knowing what to
do with himself or caring which way he turned or
where he went. Sunday were dull, heavy days
for Sam,-days which somehow did not seem to
belong to him,-days in which he had nothing in
common, in which he had no part or share,-days
when he always felt an inclination to hide himself
and his rags, and that is why on Sundays he chose
the shaded sides and haunted the narrowest and
darkest streets. Week days he never thought of
his tattered clothes. The streets were so crowded
and busy he seemed part and parcel of them, and
his sunlit face might have been seen at almost every
turn. Besides, rags and wretchedness were then
too much a livery to be noticed.
On Sunday it was different. All the world was
in its best, if any best it had. Sam felt as if every-
body must be looking at him from his hatless head
to his shoeless feet; and he seemed so visible to
the police. Sam, too, found Sunday an unprofitable

38 SAM.

day. People never seemed to him to carry any
coppers in their pockets on Sundays, and the gaily-
dressed ladies did not seem to fancy his opening
their cab doors, neither did the gentlemen with
smart light-coloured kid gloves look inclined to call
him to hold their riding horses. Sam knew nothing
of Sunday schools, nothing about keeping holy the
Sabbath day, or going to worship God in His own
house of prayer. He therefore wondered in his
own mind where so many children were going with
tidy clothes and cleanly washed hands and faces.
And so Sam grew to reckon the seventh the saddest
and longest day of all the week, and this Sunday
evening seemed sadder and longer than usual. He
only whistled or sang snatches of his old favourite
tunes; when he left off and then began again he
had to ask himself where he was in his tune. Sam
was not himself at all. Presently he was attracted
by a row of large windows brilliantly illuminated
with gaslights. He could only see the upper part
of the windows; the rest was entirely hidden behind
roofs of houses and stacks of chimneys. "That
looks nice and cheerful at all events," thought Sam;
as a moth flies to the candle so was Sam attracted
to these lighted windows. "I shouldn't mind
having a look in there; it won't cost anything, and
who's to see me? Nobody." So saying, without a
moment's hesitation Sam climbed up a shoot at the
corner of a low building and was very soon on the


roof itself. Sam was born to be a climber as some
are born to be sailors, and a roof frightened him no
more than a mast. He passed from roof to roof,
climbing up and sliding down until he found himself
on a tiled roof which sloped down to the very
windows of the illuminated building.
"That'll do," said Sam, as he seated himself on
the pointed top of the roof, with his legs dangling
down the side which sloped towards the church wall.
From his resting place Sam could command nearly
the whole of the interior of the church, and also
hear through the open windows a good deal that
was being said or sung, so clasping his hands on
his lap Sam quietly prepared to make his observa-
"Lots of folks, at all events," said he, rubbing his
eyes, which were dazzled and almost blinded with
the blaze and glare of gaslights. Sam wondered if
his old gentleman was amongst the crowd of per-
sons; he saw a good many bald heads, and heads of
grey hair, but he could not quite satisfy himself that
either of them belonged to his own special friend.
Presently the organ begari to sound, and all the
people stood up; and then there came such a burst
of voices, all singing God's praises in a hymn, as
Sam had never before heard. Sam was delighted,
and he clapped his thin hands, and kicked his bare
heels against the tiles for joy, and Sam said to him-
self-"This here is a pleasant change !" And Sam

40 SAM.

peeped and peeped this way and that, to see if he
could not find out from whence the music came;
and he saw, quite at one end of the church, a high
sort of cupboard, with lots of tall gold sticks in
front, and he made up his mind the music must
come out of that, because it was something the
shape of the hand-organs the men played in the
street, only it was heaps bigger. When the singing
was over, and the organ once more silent, everybody
fell down on their knees and hid their faces. Sam
could not distinctly hear what was said, but he fan-
cied several times that he heard something about
the word "name."
"Ah, ah !" thought Sam, "I've got it now-I've
found it out! No doubt all these people are good-
name people, and that's what the minister is talking
about, and that's why they look so nice, and clean,
and tidy."
"Where Sam sat perched up, he could not see the
clergyman who was reading the prayers, but he
wondered if he were to listen very attentively
whether he should learn how to get a good name.
And then Sam wondered how the people managed
to stay quiet for such a long time, and why none of
them ever looked up. Sam was very glad when at
last, the prayers being ended, there was a general
movement, and he was able once more to see the
faces of all the people-it looked more cheerful.
And then, to his great joy, the organ struck up
again, and there was another hymn sung.


Before the singing was finished, Sam noticed a
gentleman dressed in what he thought was a long
black cloak, walk up a little narrow staircase, and
step into a sort of box upon legs, which stood at the
end of the church, exactly opposite to where the
organ was placed, but very near Sam; and when
the clergyman began to speak, everybody hid their
faces again. Sam could not even now hear plainly
what was said, so he thought he would get a little
nearer to the window, which was partly open; he
could easily manage to slip down just in front of it,
so off he started on his hands and heels, but, un-
luckily, the roof was steeper than he had antici-
pated, and he slipped so fast he could not stop him-
self, but went flop against the window. Sam saw
lots of heads turn in his direction, but fortunately
it was so dark outside, no one could see distinctly
what was the matter. No doubt they fancied it
was a poor bird, or bat, who had flapped its wings
against the glass. How startled they would have
been had they caught sight of Sam's pale cheeks
pressed against the window-panes.
Down in the gutter-shoot, which ran between the
roof and the church wall, crouched Sam, nose and
knees together; and then he cleared away his
matted locks from his eyes and brow, that he might
see and understand more clearly. When the
preacher gave out his text, he seemed so exactly as
if he were staring right at him, and was looking him
through and through, inside and out, that he quite

42 SAM.

made Sam wink and blink. In reality he did not
see Sam at all, because he was entirely shrouded in
the outer darkness: but Sam did not know this,
and he felt half inclined to move away. He did
not, however, for he wanted to hear what the
clergyman was going to say.
"'Ye are the salt of the earth,'" was his text.
He repeated the words over again-"' Ye are the
salt of the earth.'" The second time, to Sam's
great relief, he looked exactly in an opposite direc-
tion, and Sam saw only the back of his head.
"Them are curious words," thought Sam, and he
took courage and nestled a little closer to the open
window. "Somehow everything I hear now seems
to sound curious. They are pretty near as curious
as the words the old gentleman told me-' A good
name is rather to be chosen than great riches.' I
wonder if the book he's reading out of is like
mother's Bible and Lizzie's text-book ? I wish
father hadn't done away with mother's Bible--there
seems to be such lots of curious things in it."
Then the clergyman Began his sermon. Sam
listened, but he could not understand all he heard.
The clergyman explained that those who were called
the salt of the earth were good people--true
Christians: those who, by God's grace working in
their hearts, were humble and meek-mourned-
were sorry for their past sins, and longed for
holiness, were pure in heart, and merciful-that, as
salt purifies and prevents things from becoming-



corrupt and impure; so those who were indeed
God's own children by adoption and grace, would be
always trying, God helping them, to do good to all
around them, and to correct all that was impure,
and vicious, and sinful. And then he said, "See
what Christ means us to do-each of us in our own
little circle or place-Christ means to tell us in
these, His own words, that we must each of us act
upon our friends and companions exactly as salt acts
upon the substance with which it is mixed. Our
duty is simple and plain. Let each one ask himself
if he is doing all he can to make and keep others
pure and uncorrupt-is all I say pure and impro-
ving, and kind, and reverent ? Can my friends and
companions plainly see that I love what is good, and
hate what is evil-lies, profaneness, and impurity ?
That, with all my soul, I believe in Christ, and with
all my heart love God? If this be the case, then, I
am in my humble way acting as the salt of the
Then Sam began to grow tired of listening, and
he wondered how the people could manage to sit so
still for such a long time; and then his thoughts
wandered, first to Lizzie-he did so wish she could
have heard the singing and the organ-the organ
sounded as loud as thunder almost, and very like it
too, so thought Sam-only instead of rolling along
and along, and growing louder and louder, it thun-
dered a tune, and grew fainter and fainter -every
now and then, just as if it was going up, and up, a

44 SAM.

long way, far above all the roofs and chimneys, quite
into the clouds, and all amongst the stars. Sam did
so wish Lizzie could hear it, but it seemed impos-
sible for a girl to climb up as he had done, and to
scale all the old blackened roofs. Lizzie was a deal
cleverer than he was. Sam had settled that a long
time ago in his own mind. He would ask her why
all the people buried their faces in their hands, or
in their books; she would be sure to know.
And then Sam's thoughts took quite another
direction, and wandered away to his father and
Phil; he wondered what they were doing; he didn't
think they were what the clergyman would call salt
people, and wondered if salt people were happier
than other people, and if salt people were the same
sort as people with good names; he thought they
must be.
Just as he was pondering over all these things, as
he sat quietly crouching in the gutter-shoot, he
heard something close to him creeping stealthily
over the tiles, and he heard a faint mew! mew !"
and he looked round and saw a poor thin, half-
starved tabby cat, prowling about in search of food;
he could just distinguish it in the misty moonlight
which was gently spreading itself over the gloomy
"Puss, poor puss!" said Sam, crawling on his
hands and knees towards it; but pussy had no fancy
for being caught by a boy, her sworn enemy, so,
casting a fierce look behind her, with a startled,


shrill mew!" she darted off, Sam pursuing her
with almost as much agility up this roof and down
that; but before long puss gained the day by a
flying leap, and vanished from Sam's sight. Sam
thought he would like to go back and listen if there
was any more music going on, but when he reached
the spot he found all the windows dark, the lights
were put out, the service was over, and the church
shut up; and the building, which only a short time
since had looked so bright and glowing, appeared
now, against the pale evening sky, like a huge
monster, sleeping in its own shadow. So Sam slid
down again into the dull, dark street, and very soon
he rolled himself up into a sort of ragged ball, and
was fast asleep.

THE next morning Sam awoke early and rubbed
his eyes with his little hard knuckles and shook his
little shaggy head to completely wake himself up,
and then he looked about to see if anything was
going on. No one near him seemed to be stirring as
yet, but the distant dull heavy monotonous roll of
carts and waggons, and the variety of mixed cries
which fell upon his ear from this way and that in a
confused indistinct jangle, told him that the hush of
yesterday was over and that to-day's bustle of
London life had once more begun going on from
dawn until the stars appear as it had done long
before Sam was born, and doubtless would continue
to roll on and on when Sam's own little life had
floated down life's narrow stream and ebbed itself
away-away to a world of pleasures for evermore-
or of unending woe.
Once thoroughly wide awake Sam began thinking
what was next to be done. Somehow Sam felt a
strong desire, a strange longing to see Lizzie-just
as you would turn over the leaves of a Dictionary or
some clever book of reference if there was something
you could not understand by yourself; so Sam


always went to consult Lizzie when he stumbled
upon what he would call a regularr puzzler." Sam's
last evening's experience on the roofs of the
houses was just that to him whenever it came across
his thoughts, so without much deliberation he made
up his mind to go straight to Lizzie that morning.
" I never like to disappoint Lizzie," he said to him-
self by way of excuse for so soon going home again-
you will remember Sam prides himself on his
"independence"-" I guess Lizzie is looking out
pretty sharp for me, 'cause of the day's pleasuring I
promised to give her." In this Sam was perfectly
correct. Lizzie had never for a moment lost sight
of his promised day of pleasure-the happy expecta-
tion was ever present with her, the last thing at
night and the first thing in the morning-and she
wondered and wondered what the glad day would
be like and when it would come. Boys and girls are
always wondering, half a child's young joy and
gladness is made up of wonders-wonders that
lend such brightness to days that would be other-
wise so dull and dark. ,In after years when life's
toil is full upon us and our hearts are heaviest, how
sweet, how refreshing it is, though it be with a sigh,
to look back upon those young days studded all over
with glittering golden wonders, just as bright green
meadows are over-starred with golden gilt-cups.
But we must not forget Lizzie and Sam and their
It was not long before Lizzie with her feverish

48 SAM.

freckled little sun-burnt face was pacing along the
streets side by side with Sam. So deliciously idle,
with not even a bunch of paper flowers to sell, Lizzie
felt quite grand, and she wondered if all the finely
dressed little girls she saw, and who never seemed
to have anything to do but to sit in their smart
carriages drawn by spirited prancing horses, could
enjoy a day's holiday more than she was doing.
Sam was so busy talking to Lizzie he did not care to
look out for a "job." Besides he was holiday
keeping too; if he found anything without looking
for it well and good. He would not mind that.
You don't think we shall meet father, shall we ?"
asked Lizzie. The little joy and the faint smile
which her face wore that holiday morning faded
away as she asked the question.
"No, no, there isn't much fear of our meeting
father, he doesn't love broad daylight." Even Sam
shivered under his rags at the thought of having
their pleasure spoilt by such a meeting, but Sam's
shiver soon passed off like a cloud-cast shadow on a
sunny summer-day, and Lizzie's little hidden joy
ventured to peep mut and the sickly smile again to
play feebly over her face, like pale sun-rays on a
rainy sky; and they once more walked gaily on, and
then Sam told Lizzie of his last evening's adventure,
how he had climbed up the water-pipe and scrambled
over the roofs and sat in the gutter shoot looking
into the church window, and all about the music
and the singing.


"Oh, Lizzie, I do wish you could hear it-it all
seemed to come out of a sort of high cupboard-place,
with great tall gold sticks in front, and when they
had done singing all the people hung their heads and
hid their faces in great big open books or buried them
in their hands. What did they do that for, Lizzie ?"
"What did they do it for, Sam ?" asked Lizzie,
rather surprised and horrified at Sam's ignorance-
"'cause they were saying their prayers. When I went
to school and learnt out of my text-book I always
shut my eyes and put my hands so,-when I said
'Our Father.'" Lizzie joined her hands palm to
palm in an attitude of prayer, and closed her eyes to
show Sam what she meant. "Teacher used to tell us
that 'Our Father,' you know, Sam, God who is up
in heaven, would hear us children and give us what
we want for Jesus Christ's sake, if we said the words
with our hearts."
"She couldn't have meant what she said, Lizzie."
"Why not, Sam? She did."
"'Cause wasn'tt sense, we don't talk, don't say
things with our hearts, but with our tongues and
lips. You just watch and see howfast my lips and
tongue go now I'm speaking! but my heart don't
move a morsel quicker."
"I can't 'zactly say, Sam, how it is, but teacher
always said what was right. She wouldn't go
tellin' fibs about it. Look here, Sam! I've got it
now. If you wanted anything very particular you'd
say I wish for it with all my heart, so I 'spose when

50 SAM.
we want something ever so much 'tis our hearts that
say it, and then God hears and gives it to us."
"I want to get a good name dreadful bad, Lizzie,
'cause, then, I could go to the old gentleman. S'pose,
Lizzie, you was to say, 'Our Father,' with all your
heart, p'raps I should get it then."
"I don't know, Sam," said Lizzie, considering;
"cause I'm not sure there's anything in it about a
good name."
"Couldn't you say it, Lizzie, and then we should
"I don't think, Sam, I could say it out loud now,
'cause 'tisn't Sunday, nor school, nor church-"
"Nonsense, Lizzie, that can't signify. Don't people
ask for things, excepting they're in church or school
-'tisn't only on Sundays they wants 'em."
"I'll say it at home, Sam, when it's dark, and I
can shut my eyes; and, if I say it with my heart,
nobody won't hear me, only God and Jesus."
"All right, Lizzie-I say-if I could have caught
that cat I saw on the roof-'twas a tabby, I think-
I would have given it to you. Would you have
been glad ?"
Oh, yes, Sani," said Lizzie, drawing in her breath
with delight at the bare thought of having some-
thing all her own to love and pet; then, suddenly,
as if recollecting herself she added, "but Sam, could
she have kept herself? we've never got a drop of
"I forgot that," said Sam.


"Have we much further to go before we get to
the real country ?" asked Lizzie.
"Why? are you tired ?"
"Yes, very."
"We have not come to where the old gentleman
lives yet. Yes, we have, though," exclaimed Sam,.
clapping his hands as he read the name of the Ter-
race, which was painted in large letters on the end
house. "That's it; and he said he lived at the end
house. I say, s'pose he's looking out at us ?"
Sam's heart began to beat quite quickly at the
thought; and both the children stopped to look at
the house. It was so tall they had to throw their
heads as far back as possible, before they could see
up and up to the highest windows. There were
such beautiful flowers in every window planted in
pretty, gay coloured China boxes, that they scarcely
knew how to take their eyes off them. Lizzie caught
a few of the bright petals which came floating down
towards her on the breeze.
Then very soon came the end of streets, and
squares, and terraces, and a beginning of trees-
poor, stunted, distorted trees, with blackened trunks
and stems, and leaves that could not keep themselves
bright, and green, and fresh-the end of pavement,
and the beginning of grass-worn, dried-up, straw-
colour grass, and stony footpaths, and scrubby
hedges, and neglected, half-dug foundations for
houses, and piles of red bricks and white, ready for
building, and forlorn looking, half-finished houses

52 SAM.

left all uncompleted through want of money, or for
some other reason. And this was Sam's and Lizzie's
idea of the country, the sweet, smiling, blossoming
country, with its waving cornfields and green, rip-
pling meadows! Tired and hot, Lizzie sat down,
and thought how pleasant it was to have the bright
breeze blowing through her hair, and over her head,
and all around her; and, then, she looked this way
and that-back upon the domes and spires of Lon-
don-upon the great, smoky city itself, as it stretched
far off and beyond, until it was lost in haze-forward
over long lines of intersected railways, and through
viaducts and arches; and she listened to the distant
hum of voices, of lowing cattle, and the far-away
roar of London, and she watched the darting, puffing,
panting, hissing trains, as they seemed to come and
go in a moment, whistling, hastening, leaving nothing
but a wreathing, curling, feathery track behind them.
At a little distance from Sam and Lizzie, a lot of
noisy ragged boys and girls grouped themselves in
a circle round a hole in the ground, and began play-
ing pitch and toss.
Sam, don't let's have anything to do with them,
they're such big boys," said Lizzie, shoving herself
a little nearer to Sam for protection.
I don't expect they'd care to play with such as
us," replied Sam. "Don't let's notice 'em; we can
have our own games without their interference."
So saying, Sam searched in his pockets and found
some coppers, and Sam and Lizzie had a quiet little


game of pitch-and-toss, and when they grew tired
of pitch-and-toss, they played at hopscotch, and
then Lizzie gathered a few poor, dusty, scared-
looking red poppies and wild camomile flowers, and
twisted and twirled them into a wreath for her old
tattered black straw hat, and Sam laughed to see
Lizzie so happy and look so gay, and in this manner
the day wore away, Lizzie living only in the pre-
sent, forgetting her past dull, dreary little life-for-
getting that the same life must begin again when
she went home. Presently she awoke from her
peaceful dream, and found the day's pleasure was
nearly over. We needn't go yet," said Sam, and
Sam began amusing himself with throwing stones
at an old tin kettle on a heap of rubbish.
"Sam! Sam!" whispered Lizzie, as she nudged
his elbow suddenly and sharply.
"What's the matter ?" asked Sam, seeing Lizzie
look very scared and frightened.
"Don't you see, Sam ?" Lizzie kept nudging
him nervously all the time. "Don't you see ? "
See what ?" asked Sam.
Before Lizzie had time or presence of mind to
say what she saw, Phil, with his hands in his
pockets, and whistling in a don't care manner, stood
before them; he was pale, but he looked sharp and
active; his face was scarred and discoloured with
bruises more or less recent, and an impudent and
cunning smirk lurked ready for use at the corners
of his blear eyes and shapeless mouth, he was a

54 SAM,

gloomy-looking lad clad in ragged clothes. On his
head he wore an old tattered fur cap.
"Hulloa, Sam, is that you ?" exclaimed Phil,
shaping his mouth into something more like a
grimace than a smile. "I want to have a talk
with you-leave her behind." Phil nodded his
head in the direction of Lizzie. "Gals are always
in the way."
"Oh, please Sam said Lizzie, with an implor-
ing look, and clinging to him. "Please, don't go
with Phil; do, do stay with me," and she burst into
a flood of tears.
"That's always the way with gals," said Phil,
"roaring and crying till you can't hear yourself
What is it you want ?" asked Sam.
"Only for you to come along with me for a
minute," said Phil.
"Don't ye see," said Sam, "Lizzie and I are out
for a day's pleasuring, so 'tis only natural we
shouldn't wish to be disturbed," and Sam began to
whistle and sing as if he had settled the question,
and did not want to hear any more about it, and
Lizzie dried up her tears and wiped them off her
cheeks with the back of her hands; but Phil was
not to be so quickly or easily got rid of.
"Nonsense, Sam," said he. "Pleasurin' indeed!
I should like to know, in the name of fortune, what
pleasurin' there can be in sitting' down with a gal
and chuckin' stones at an old tin kettle. What I've


got to say wouldn't take five minutes. Come, Sam,
don't be a coward, afraid of a girl." So saying,
Phil took hold of Sam by the sleeve of his shirt.
It was more than Sam could bear to be called a
coward, so he said, "Well, then, say what you've
got to say precious quick, and I'll go a little way
with you. You wait for me, Lizzie, where you are.
I sha'n't be gone long."
Lizzie fancied she saw Phil's eyes aid mouth
smirk mischievously as Sam said he should not be
long gone, and a misgiving crept over her which
seemed to make her shiver through and through, as
she watched Sam and Phil walk off together. Sam
was still whistling and singing, but the sound of
his voice grew fainter and fainter as he walked
further and further away. At last it died off alto-
gether, and Sam and Phil looked like shadowy
figures growing dimmer and more dreamlike, until
they vanished entirely, and disappeared amidst the
smoky gloom of rows of black houses.


LIZZIE waited very patiently arid quietly until she
thought it must be quite time for Sam to be coming
back, and then she strained and strained her eyes
and tried to pierce the hazy, indistinct distance.
There were many persons, and boys and girls in
abundance going to and fro, but she could not see
Sam. Sam had told her to wait, that he should not
be gone long, so he must come soon. (To Lizzie he
seemed to have been away already a very long
time.) And then she left off looking for him, and
turned her head quite the other way, with the hope
that when she was not watching for him he would
surely come; but he did not, and then poor Lizzie's
strength grew faint, and her heart grew sad from
waiting and from battling so long with disappoint-
ment, and the shadows crept on and on, growing
longer and longer. Slowly, silently until nearly all
the happy sunshine was gone, and the large blood-
red sun sank and sank solemnly behind the distant
dark grey hills. Lizzie watched it going-going,
until there was only a crimson thread outlining the
hill-she holds her breath-the sun is gone! Lizzie
feels doubly alone now, and her heart begins to bate


wildly; and then came twilight stealing over fields
and houses, and the last bright beam faded away;
and then the golden stars came palely peeping, one
after the other, out of the dark blue sky, and the city's
distant roar seemed to be lulling and rocking itself
asleep. Poor Lizzie was in despair; with her an-
guished voice broken by sobs, she called "Sam!
Sam !" Her cry broke the silence around her, that
was all, no answer came-no welcome sound of
Sam's flip, flap footstep. "Perhaps," thought Lizzie,
"Sam doesn't think I should wait here so late-
perhaps he's gone home. I wish I knew which way
Sam went, I would go after him;" but Lizzie did
not know, so she made up her mind that at all
events she would go home. She might meet Sam;
he would be quite certain that she would return the
same way they came. So Lizzie, with the withered
wreath of wild flowers still clinging to the crown
of -her old straw hat, started off for her solitary
homeward walk. What a lonely, weary way it
seemed; so different to her morning walk-what a
dreary ending to her day's pleasure Lizzie would
not have cared half so much, or been nearly so
miserable, if Phil had not taken Sam off. She felt
so dreadfully afraid Phil would drag Sam into mis-
chief, and try to make him as bad and wicked as
he was himself.
After walking some little distance, Lizzie once
more passes the tall terrace-houses where the old
gentleman lives. The scene is changed, the upper

68 SAM.

stories are almost lost in the darkness, and the
beautiful flowers that looked so bright, and nodded
so gracefully in the morning breeze, are sleeping
half-hidden in the gloom, excepting here and there
where a leaf or a blossom is lighted up and glistens
in a chance gleam of gas-light which happens to fall
upon it. Lizzie could see quite plainly into the
lower room for one of the window blinds was partly
drawn up and the window open. The delicious
smell of rich soups and savoury dishes floated out
on the heavy evening air, making the poor hungry
child feel fainter still, and she listened to the merry
laugh and cheerful talk as it burst in gay confusion
on her ear and mingled with her own little half-
starved sighs. Tip-toeing she could see now and
then tossing heads gay with artificial flowers. She
wondered if the old gentleman himself was there;
she could not see him, and she wondered if such gay
ladies and gentlemen ever thought of the many
poor little Lizzies, hungry ragged little Lizzies and
Sams around them and at their very doors, ready to
pick up the crumbs which fall from their tables,
starving for the want of them. Lizzie knew the
old gentleman thought of poor ragged children
because he had been so kind to Sam and her
mother. How Lizzie wished she could see him and
speak to him and tell him about Sam. She was
sure he would listen, for had he not listened to
Sam ? Once more between jolting little sobs which
would come jerking up, Lizzie called "Sam," "Samn"


but nobody heard and nobody answered. The
laughter and talking went on, and the gay heads
nodded and tossed just as gaily as if there was
no poor fainting, famishing Lizzie alone outside
crying for Sam and for food! Lizzie was just
thinking of going on when she noticed a boy with
newspapers in his hand standing at the old gentle-
man's front door. A wild, despairing last thought
seized her; perhaps when the door was opened
she might catch sight of the old gentleman himself,
if not, why should she not summon up sufficient
courage to ask to speak to him? Lizzie rushed
across the street, but before she could reach the
house the door was opened and shut again, a
momentary display of further inside brightness was
all she saw, and this ray of light served only
to lend dreariness and gloom to her own cold bare
outer world. Lizzie fancied she saw the footman
put something into the boy's hand which he threw
away as soon as the door was closed. The man had
given him a dinner roll; the boy was well fed and
was not hungry. Lizzie after a little searching
found the roll, and caught it up and eat it eagerly.
Lizzie muttered to herself, "It's very good. I
wonder why the boy threw it away; how odd
it must be not to feel hungry." And then with one
more glance through the open window into the
fairy-land that brightly gas-lighted room appeared
Sto Lizzie, she hurried on; a clock in some neigh-
bouring church-tower is striking eight; her mother

60 SAM.

will be wondering what has become of her, and
Sam may be already at home waiting for her. The
thoroughfares are still busy and the pavements
crowded with persons, some bent on business, some
on pleasure; others idly lurking about ready for
doing anything they ought not. None care for
Lizzie. Nobody interrupts her, she is so small;
she slips through the narrowest space. Now and
then a barefooted child, catching sight of her
withered wild flower-wreath, wonders where she has
been, and points her finger at it, and laughs madly;
but Lizzie does not know they are laughing at her,
she has forgotten all about the poppies and camo-
mile-flowers in her hat, so she goes quietly on, and
the children turn away to point and laugh at some-
thing else. Lizzie was again disappointed, she did
not find Sam at home, but only her mother sitting
silently by the side of a lonely guttering candle
patiently twisting pink paper into roses, and con-
verting strips of notched white paper, almost wide
enough and full enough for Queen Elizabeth's ruffs,
into poppies, double full-bloomed poppies.
"I'm glad you're come, Lizzie my child," said the
poor woman, laying aside the half-finished roses
and poppies. "Why did Sam keep you out so
late ?"
He didn't keep me, mother; I've been all alone
stopping and waiting for him for ever so long."
Then Lizzie told her mother about Phil coming
and taking Sam away with him.


Sam promised me he wouldn't have anything to
say to Phil," said Mrs. Trim.
He didn't want to, now, mother, only Phil called
him acoward, and then Sam said he would just go a
little way with him."
"Just go a little wayI ah, Lizzie, when you're
as old as I am you'll know as well as I do the danger
of just going a little way wrong. That's what your
father did. He began by just going a little way
wrong, and see what he's come to! I wish you
had followed them, Lizzie, to see where Phil took
him to."
"I didn't know he was going for so long, and oh,
mother, Phil looked so cross at me, I should have
been frightened to have gone after him, he wouldn't
let me go with them 'cause he said gals was always
in the way."
Lizzie was too tired to stay awake long, but
before she fell asleep she thought over what Sam had
said to her about wanting to get a good name dreadful
bad, and that perhaps he should get it if she was to
say "Our Father" with her heart instead of her
lips. The room was quite dark, only a few stars
twinkled dimly through the dusty blackened sky-
window, and her mother lay so still she was sure
she must be asleep. She would try. So Lizzie
closed her weary little eyes as tight as she could
and joined her hands just as she used to do at the
Sunday-school, and then she began in a low whisper.
She thought it would be more like heart-talking if

62 SAM.

she only whispered and did not let her lips say
it aloud. "Our Father, which art in heaven,
hallowed be Thy name, Thy kingdom come, Thy will
be done on earth as it is in heaven, give us this day
our daily bread---" Lizzie paused-adding as it
were her own little prayer. Please to send mother
and Sam and Lizzie herself some bread every, day;"
then she went on. "And forgive us our trespasses as
we forgive them that trespass against us, and lead us
not into temptation, but deliver us from evil-"
Lizzie paused again-wasn't this very much the
same as asking God to give Sam a "good name ?"
Lizzie thought it must be, for it seemed to her
exactly as if she had asked God to keep Sam from
being wicked, so Lizzie once more added her own
little simple petition. "Please God, don't let Phil
make Sam a bad boy," then she continued-" For
Thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory, for
ever and ever. Amen."
"Almost as the whispered "Amen" escaped from
her poor parched child-lips, Lizzie's little uplifted
joined hands fell gently apart down on the hard
comfortless bed, and she dropped off quietly into a
peaceful, restful sleep-
"-- Wrapt in still soft gloom
She slept away the daylight sorrow,"


SAM did not make his appearance the next
morning, as Lizzie expected he would; so she set
out to sell her bright sprays of paper flowers, won-
dering still what could have become of him. The
faltering tones of her feeble little voice sounded even
more than usually piteous and plaintive as she tot-
tered along the streets, her small, thin hands grasp-
ing the stiff wire stems as she displayed her gaudy
flowers high above her head, and cried, "Flowers,
any flowers! buy my pretty -flowers!" All the
while, her eyes were busily engaged in searching
not so much for customers as for Sam. But Sam
did not turn up. Every day throughout that week
Lizzie paced up and down Oxford Street, or lurked
about Sam's favourite haunts. Lots of ragged boys
crossed her path, pattering with naked feet along
the pavement, or stopping to fish in the gutters; but
still there was no Sam amongst the many. Was
Sam growing hard, and unkind, and cruel, like all
the world besides ? thought Lizzie. Lizzie's little
world was composed of her father, and Phil. No,
she could not believe that of Sam. She could not

64 SAM.

think ill of him. So Lizzie decided that something
dreadful must have befallen Sam, or he never would
have left her alone all this weary while with her
wonders. Then came Sunday, and, with it, one
faint, flickering, little ray of hope for Lizzie. She
might, perhaps, see Sam scrambling over the roofs
to reach those brightly lighted windows of which
he had told her, where he heard such beautiful
music and singing, and so much about good people,
or salt people, as Sam called them, or she might see
him chasing the cat he wanted to give her. The
day Lizzie and Sam went out together, he showed
her the very building with the shaky old stagpipe
up which he had climbed. So she would be at no
loss to find it. Just as it was growing dusk, and
the gas lamps in the streets were all starting and
twinkling into being, Lizzie found herself close to
the very building, and standing under its cast
shadow. It was merely a dilapidated shed, which
once belonged to a brewery, but now served as a
shelter for lumber or useless casks and barrels-it
was not situated in any thoroughfare, but in a sort
of blind alley or yard. As it led nowhere, and did
not contain any dwelling-houses, few people dis-
turbed its loneliness during the six days of the
week, and nobody ever came near it on Sunday, so
Lizzie had it all to herself. She gazed eagerly up
at the dull, blackened tiled roofs as they rose one
above the other in heavy masses against the pale
grey evening sky; but all was still; there was


nothing moving, no little half-clad creature creeping
and crawling over them on all fours, as she fancied
she should see Sam. As it grew darker and duskier,
every now and then her heart would almost gallop,
it beat so fast when she caught sight of a something
that looked exactly like Sam; but the something
was sure to turn out either a chimney she had not
noticed before, or a cowl going round and round, or
wavering in the wind; the poor, spare, half-starved
cat was prowling about somewhere; Lizzie did not
see it; she only heard its melancholy "mew."
Pussy could take her pastime on the roofs leisurely
this evening; for, evidently, there was no Sam now
"to chase away the little breath she could call her
own. After a while, even Lizzie's little stock of
patience was quite exhausted, and she started off
sad and hopeless to go home again. On her way, she.
passed very near to one of the lines of railway
which run over a long stretch of arches; not open
arches, but enclosed with either bricks or boards.
There were many trains coming and going, or pre-
paring to start; fbr a station was close by; they
were all screeching, and whistling, and puffing, and
smoking. Lizzie stopped to watch them as they
rushed hither and thither with their flaring red
lamps, which looked to Lizzie exactly like large fiery
eyes glaring down upon her. Then came a short
lull, when there were no trains hissing in and out,
and no great red eyes to stare at 1'. r;. abi.l she left
off gazing up and up above the ;i.-lI':-ovcr the low


parapet wall on to the trains, and her eyes fell for
rest unthinkingly on the street below-the dimly-
lighted street, and they wandered into the deep
shadow cast by the high railway viaduct-and there
Lizzie saw, half-unconsciously, a figure walking
slowly and silently up and down. The figure was
so indistinct, and partook so entirely of the colour
of the deep shadow that it was scarcely perceptible.
At first, Lizzie thought she was only a little giddy
from looking up so steadily at the trains, and that
made the shadow appear as if it moved; but, when
she looked again, she found it was no fancy. The
figure had advanced nearer to her, and she saw in it
a form she knew, and knew too well-the form of
Phil, her brother Phil.
For a moment Lizzie hesitated what to do-
whether to speak to him or not; but while she was
making up her mind the figure disappeared alto-
gether, and vanished from her sight. Lizzie was
sorry now, that she was not quicker, and did not go
and ask if he knew anything about Sam, and she
went forward and groped about in the dark shadow,
hoping to find Phil still there, but she could not see
him; neither could she discover where he went so
suddenly, there was not a sign of him in the road,
and she could not find any opening into which he
might have turned. It all seemed so strange and
odd. Lizzie began to shiver and feel very queer;
those big round red lamps glaring down upon her
almost frightened her now; they reminded her of
L_ .. *. ,_ .


Phil's eyes when he used to get in a passion with
her and her mother, when he lived at home. Lizzie
wished she had not stayed out so late and was not
so far from home. She seemed to see Phil and
those horrid red-eyed lamps which ever way she
looked, so she hurried off as fast as she could go,
and never stopped until she reached her own poor
garret-home. Lizzie told her mother exactly where
she had been, and all about Phil pacing up and down
in the dark shadow.
"He must have seen you, Lizzie, that made him
run away so quick; he] could see you, of course, a
great deal plainer than you saw him. If he wasn't
after something bad he'd never have hid himself. I
tell you what, child, s'pose you go again to-morrow
evening just about the same time, you would be
sure to see him. I'd go myself if I was strong
- enough. Ah, dear, I don't expect I shall ever be fit
to get about again! "
Lizzie did not much like the idea of going. She
did not say so, but her mother guessed it.
"I think you were silly to be frightened, Lizzie,
because, after all, lamps are but lamps; 'tis only
your own fancy that turns them into eyes, and
Phil is but Phil."
Very likely all her mother said was quite true,
but Lizzie could not help a little cold shiver which
would go rippling down her back when she thought
of those tall dismal arches and the deep dark
shadow at their feet, and the figure that vanished

S68 SAM.

she did not know where, and the tearing trains that
ran along like monster caterpillars, with red star-
ing eyes that never blinked, but were always wide
When the room was quite dark and still, and
before she went to sleep, Lizzie once again said the
Lord's prayer; this time she asked God to deliver
Lizzie as well as Sam from evil. She closed her
eyes so tight, and did wish so much for all she
asked, she thought God must hear and answer her,
unless the words were lost going up to Heaven.
And yet she did not think that could be, for she
remembered that when she was quite a little thing,
her teacher had told her that God was in every
place, and could hear every word that was spoken,
and could see everything that was done by good or
wicked persons. When Lizzie awoke the next
morning, the first thing she thought of was having
to go and look out for Phil; but it was broad day-
light now, and the sun was trying to shine, and was
struggling for the mastery with the yellow fog and
smoky atmosphere, and it seemed nothing at all to
do merely to go and ask Phil about Sam-it would
be fun to watch the trains; so once more Lizzie
starts off with her hands full of paper flowers.
Again, just about the same time, the railway arches
are in sight; again there is somebody pacing slowly
up and down in the deep shadow; but there are
two figures this time, and they are taller, and
stouter, and older than Phil, and they tread firmly


and fearlessly, not stealthily, as Phil walked. And
they are well clothed and wear shiny hats, which
catch the glimmer of passing lights as the men
move to and fro. Lizzie can see plainly now-they
are policemen, watching probably for Phil himself;
and who can tell, perhaps they are on the look out
for Sam too ? Lizzie wrung her small hands in
agony at the thought of Sam being taken to prison.
He could never get a good name then, never be
able to face the old gentleman who had been so
kind to him. Lizzie wrung her hands so bitterly
and wildly, she almost shook her paper poppies and
roses off their wire stems; but her courage rose and
strengthened with her fears, and she walked quite
close, almost by the side of the tall, stout men--so
close that she could hear nearly every word they
said. Even if they noticed her, they never guessed
that it could matter to that poor thin child what
they were talking about, so she crept along unmo-
lested beneath the deep sheltering shadow. It was
evident from what Lizzie overheard that the police-
men were undoubtedly waiting and watching for
some young boys and lads whom they suspected of
thieving, and whom they hoped to capture as they
endeavoured to escape from some hiding place close
at hand, but where Lizzie could not exactly make
out. .And then the men began to talk of different
things of which Lizzie knew nothing, and which
did not interest her, so she left them and fell behind.
And then she began to try to peep through the

70 SAM.

boards with which some of the arches were enclosed,
but they were so close fitting &here seemed little
chance of her being satisfied; but presently, as she
went along dragging her fingers over the boards,
she discovered a narrow opening, so narrow she
could barely peep through it, even by putting her
eyes very near. She fancied she saw a dimly-
burning light inside, and heard the sound of voices
as if several persons were talking; but she could
not be certain, for the noise of the trains which were
constantly coming and going drowned every other
sound, and the glimmering light was so faint and
uncertain, it might proceed merely from the flickering
of one of the lamps in the streets. Whilst Lizzie is
standing on tiptoe peeping and listening, we will go
and search for Sam, and hear how it has fared with
him since the day he went "pleasuring" with
Lizzie and left her in company with his brother
Phil-just one week ago.

..1 ;
r I .,'

WHEN Sam left Lizzie sitting on the worn grass
beneath the dust-covered scrubby hedge, where they
had been both so happy playing games of pitch-
and-toss and hopscotch, he only meant to be gone a
short time. Perhaps he would never have gone at
all-never have consented to accompany Phil-if
Phil had not called him a coward. It seemed but a
trifle, as he thought, to walk a few steps with his
brother, and yet how much, very much often hangs
on ,what we think and call trifles Nothing happens
by chance; every step we take is ordered by God,
and events which probably we scarcely notice, some-
times strangely influence a whole life, although we
are too blind and too ignorant to see and understand
how in God's good providence they are working. God
sees and knows everything which goes on in the
world. Not even a common sparrow falls to the
ground without His knowledge. The very hairs of
our head are numbered by Him, and our tears which
dry on our cheeks as rapidly as a shower in June,
are all counted by God. And every idle word-

72 SAM.

spoken perhaps when few are by to hear-is noted
by God and written down in His book. The coarse
jest-the unclean song-the foul oath, or God's own
sacred name taken in vain-the lies so much at
home on wicked lips-each and all of these will
rise up and appear in judgment against us in the
last day, when we shall every one of us stand
before God's great white throne, His judgment seat,
and have to give an account of all we have said and
done, whether it be good or whether it be evil. The
densest darkness cannot hide the midnight crime
from God's eyes-He can hear the wicked whispered
word, though the tempest howls its loudest. But
we must return to Phil and Sam, and follow them
as they walk on leisurely, Sam as usual singing and
whistling by turns snatches of songs and favourite
airs, whilst Phil lounges along by his side with
his hands in his pockets, nodding every now and
then in a knowing and patronising manner to some
acquaintance whom he chanced to meet.
He did not speak to anybody, but walked on
silently, rarely even exchanging a word with Sam.
It was evident Phil's business and errand that even-
ing was strictly confined to Sam. They very soon
left the suburbs (poor Sam's country) and plunged
into the heart of a squalid neighbourhood with a
low, ragged population. Phil always took short cuts
through the slums, avoiding respectable thorough-
fares. Sam began to grow suspicious, and thought
that if Phil had really anything to say to him-


Phil had told him that lie had-it was quite time
he should begin. Sam, accordingly, left off whist-
ling aid singing, placed his arms akimbo with his
hands on his hips, his thumbs curling backwards with
strong determination, then looking up full in Phil's
face and shaking his head emphatically, he said-
"If you've no objection, Phil, I should be glad if
you'd out with what you've got to say, 'cos, don't
you see, I'm too much in a hurry to wait any
"All right; I just wanted to show you how a
chap can get a living without working for it. Only
fools work." As Phil spoke his eyes and mouth
smirked with low cunning.
I ain't no fool," said Sam, standing stock still;
"but, as it happens, your recommendation don't
'zactly suit my ideas. I knows of summat as will
pay better than that."
Phil pricked up his ears. Than what ?"
Why than what you'd have me take to-thiev-
"Thievin'! Who's said anything about thievin' ?"
"Well, nobody, not 'zactly. Only it don't seem
clear to me how a chap's to live if he don't neither
work nor thieve." Sam looked straight up into
Phil's face as he spoke.
"Come on," said Phil, impatiently, "and don't
stand there starin' at a fellow as if you was a police
magistrate in court. I never steals, I only 'picks
up,' as we calls it, a thing or so where it comes in

74 SAM.

my way, as I want it. Come on, do." Phil caught
hold of Sam by the arm and dragged him along.
"And now let's hear what the summat is you've
got in your head, if 'tain't neither pickin' up nor
working. "
I never said wasn'tt working Well, I met an old
gen'lman one day-he was a regular gen'lman 'cos
he gave mother lots of things-and he says a good
name is rather to be chosen than great riches,' and,
says he, when you've got a good name you may
come to me."
"Pshaw, Sam regular rubbish; how's anybody
like us to get a good name "
Well, I aspectss 'tis just about the last thing a
chap would 'pick up,' said Sam, "but I mean to
have a try at it. A bad name ain't of much value,
and never did nobody any service. There's
"Look sharp, Sam," said Phil, not hearing, or, at
all events, not heeding what Sam was saying. Suit-
ing the action to the word before Sam had time or
power to resist, Phil pushed him through a nar-
row opening in a high wooden partition. Phil
followed closely upon his heels, instantly shutting
up the opening through which they had entered,
and shutting it, too, so effectually that few persons
would have been able to discover that the boards
had ever been displaced.
"We're all right and safe now," said Phil, taking
off his torn cap and running his fingers through his


shaggy head of hair by way of relief, as if he had
felt anything but safe and right before.
"" Where are we ?" asked Sam, rather bewildered,
turning on his heels and looking round and about
"Where are we ?" said Phil, laughing. "Why,
in the Cave to be sure. Where else should we be ?"
In the Cave ? "
"Yes, in the Cave. At all events, that's what we
call this here arch."
"Who's we?' asked Sam. Not father ?"
"Pshaw! No !" said Phil. "Not he; I and a
lot of other chaps who live here; it's an awfully
jolly place."
The "Cave," as Phil called it, was in reality a
disused arch of a railway viaduct-the very same
into which just one week later Lizzie, standing on
tip-toe, was endeavouring to peep. It had been
used as a stable, but for some time past was left
empty and was closed up with boards. The place
was very large, and would have been perfectly dark
but for two fires which were burning dimly at either
end of the enclosure, and which cast a dull, red,
lurid light on the surrounding space, leaving the
corners in mysterious gloom. In front of the largest
fire a number of empty seats were ranged. The
other-a smaller fire at the furthest end of the arch
-had a seat on either side, occupied by two lads
about Sam's own age, who were keeping watch and
guard, and acted as spies to give signals of alarm iii

76 SAM.

case of the approach of any person or policeman, or
of any other danger being apprehended. The air
was so thick with smoke and so hot and close-
smelling strong of charred feathers, Sam was almost
suffocated-his head began to swim, and a strange
and queer sensation crept over him just as if he
were losing his senses or was going to die, and then
he didn't seem to recollect who he was or where.
He tried to whistle and sing, but he couldn't man-
age it at all; it seemed to him exactly as if some-
body else was singing and whistling, and not Sam.
And then he grew paler and paler, and sound and
sight became fainter and feebler, and his legs tot-
tered beneath their light weight, and Sam sank
down senseless with his face on the ground, and lay
there without stirring. Phil watched him anxiously.
He thought poor Sam's whistling and singing was
over for good and all, and that he must be dying.
For themomentthe fear of death coming so very close
to him, flying past him as it were, staggered Phil,
and he did not know what to do to recover poor
Sam, but stood still staring at him as he lay like a
little lifeless log at his feet. Fortunately,the two boys
who were sitting by the fire saw Sam fall-they had
been watching Phil and Sam all the time-and ran
towards him to see what was the matter.
"Don't let him die," said one of them.
"Bring that 'ere bucket of water then," said the
other, and let's chuck it over him."
It was no sooner said than done and in another


moment Sam was well soused with a whole bucket-
ful of water; however, it had the desired effect,
and in a few moments to Phil's satisfaction Sam
was standing on his legs dripping with water from
every point like a half drowned rat. When Sam
came to himself it did not take him many minutes
to discover that he had fallen amongst a band of
juvenile thieves, that Phil was one of them, and
that the arch they called the cave was their regular
resort or headquarters, where they were accus-
tomed to meet and form their plans for future
pilferings. After a little time Sam became seasoned
to the bad.air and began to breathe more freely,
and he was able to think over what was best to be
done. Lizzie was waiting for him, that was quite
clear, for he had promised her only to go a short
way and to return very quickly, but he was afraid he
must disappoint her, for he could plainly see that, at
all events for the present, it was quite impossible for
him to escape. Phil would take care he did not do
that. Sam was in fact a kind of prisoner, and Phil
his gaoler. Sam thought the wisest plan was to
appear not even to wish to get away, but at the
same time he made up his mind he would have
nothing to do with the dishonest designs of Phil
and his companions. He would watch them, but
without letting them know what he was doing.
Sam could not see that there was any difference
between what Phil called "pickin' up and thieving,
and Sam was quite right. Poor Sam! his chance

78 SAM.

of gaining a good name seemed further off than
ever Phil and Sam had the cave to themselves for
some time with the exception of the two boys they
found sitting by the fireside, and who assisted in
bringing Sam to himself by throwing water over
him, and they very soon went back to their places
and resumed their service as spies, leaving Sam and
Phil to occupy themselves as they chose. The
constant noise of the trains passing and re-passing
over their heads sounded like loud and prolonged
peals of thunder, and almost deafened Sam; it
entirely prevented him from hearing what the
other boys were talking about, in fact he could
scarcely hear himself or Phil speak, but he heard
enough to gather that Phil had only recently joined
the band, that they had a captain and lieutenant,
and plenty to eat and never did a stroke of work,
but just "picked up whatever they wanted, such
as fowls and pigeons and so on, and then Phil took
Sam and showed him ten loaves hidden away in a
wooden horse-trough. Sam noticed that there were
lots of feathers and game bones scattered over the
ground. Sam did not at all like the look of things,
and only wished he was safe back in the country
with Lizzie.
"How about the police, Phil ?" asked Sam, hoping
to frighten him with the risk he ran of being taken
by them.
"Oh that's all-right, we take precious good care
not to knock up against any of them. If they-are


anywhere handy when we come back to the cave we
walks off and don't venture to go inside."
"But s'posin' they should find ye out ?"
"Well then we should have to bolt."
Sam wished he could bolt then and there, but
what was the use of wishing, when he did not even
know where the entrance was, or how Phil had
managed to slip aside the boards.
By-and-bye as it grew later and night drew on,
other boys dropped into the cave. Sam observed
that they appeared to enter at an exactly opposite
direction to that at which he and Phil had entered,
so he made up his mind that there must be at least
two entrances to the cave. Each boy brought some-
thing home, either spoils of fruit or bread or fowls
of some kind which they carefully hid away in the
dark recesses of the arch. One of the elder boys,
(Sam supposed he was the captain) searched poor
Sam's pockets, but he found nothing but a few half-
pence which Sam had reserved to buy Lizzie and
himself something to eat on their way home. The
boy exchanged a few words with Phil which Sam
could not catch, and then he walked away. Very
soon the younger boys were set to work to pluck
the feathers off the birds which had been brought
in. They were not very particular how it was
done, as they were all hungry and in want of their
supper. Sam only looked on, and then the fires
were poked up, and the cooking commenced;
several of the boys being busily employed in

80 SAM.
roasting the birds in the best way it could be done
considering they had neither a spit nor a poor
man's jack. When they had satisfied their appetites
and eaten as much as they wanted,- Sam could not
help relishing a bit of burnt chicken and a good
junk of bread,-all the boys, excepting the two
spies, laid down and went to sleep. Sam thought it
best to do as they-did, so he pillowed his head
on the hard ground and pretended to be asleep,
but he scarcely closed his eyes; Sam had a good
deal to think about; besides, he wanted to make
his own observations on what was going on in
the cave.

K -K?. 3 <




BOTH the fires were kept burning all night, not
briskly, but dully and dreamily, just giving light
enough to make the forms of the boys, as they lay
sleeping heavily on the ground, look like shapeless
breathing heaps. Every now and then the two
boys whose turn it was to sit up and keep watch,
stirred the sleepy embers, either with a short thick
stick, which answered the purpose of a poker, or
"with the tips of their boots, and then an occasional
little fitful flame would start into being, illuminating
for the moment the arched roof, and making
quaintly-shaped shadows dance in mute mystery on
the grim walls. The little flame soon ceased to
flicker, and the shadows to dance, and all grew once
more dull and dreary.
Sam liked the little friendly flame; there was
something cheerful in it; and as its light came run-
ning across the floor, and flickered on his face, it
almost seemed as if it were laughing and talking
with him. But Sam could not enjoy the little flame
if the spies happened to be looking in his direction

82 SAM.

at the same moment; for then he was obliged to
shut his eyes quite tight, lest they should find out
he was awake: that would not have suited Sam's
purpose, for he wanted the boys to believe he was
sound asleep, and could neither see nor hear any-
Sam was not in the mood to sleep that night;
Sam always managed to sleep or wake, just as it
happened to suit his purpose. Accustomed as. Sam
was to curl up and go to sleep night after night on
a door-step, or even the bare pavement, he was more
comfortably housed than usual. Still he was in no
mood for sleep-he did not like the companions
amongst whom he had fallen, and it did not seem at
all clear to him how he was to escape from them.
And then he thought of Lizzie, and wondered what
became of her when she found he did not return;
and the thought of Lizzie led him to other thoughts
-thoughts of all she had said to him about God
hearing and listening to people when they talked to
Him with their hearts. Sam wished very much he
could talk to God with his heart: he would ask Him
to give him a good name, and then he should be
sure to have it, and wouldn't he go quick to the old
gentleman, and tell him he had got it, and that God
had given it to him.
Sam was very nearly clapping his hand with the
joyful thought, but he checked himself just in time,
and poor Sam instead drew such a deep sigh, so
deep, it seemed to come straight up from the very


foundations of the arches-for he remembered where
he was-and the chance of getting a good name
appeared to him further off than ever; and then
the fires grew dimmer and dimmer, and the boys
grew sleepy and more sleepy, and forgot to poke
them, and the little flame died quite away, and
there were no shadows for Sam to watch as they
crept slowly up the walls, and over the arched roof;
and the heavy rolling trains had for the time ceased
to roll, and screech, and whistle. Everything was
so still and silent, Sam could hear the boys' heavy
breathing as they slept around him.
It will never be darker nor stiller-supposin' I
try," said Sam, putting the question to himself. I
can't say Our Father,' 'cause I never learnt it-and
Lizzie isn't sure there's anything in it about the
good name; but, if I ask 'Our Father' to give me
what I want, and puts it down quite plain, that
will do most as well, I should think. Well, then,
supposin' I try."
In answer to his self-asked question, poor Sam
shut up his eyes quite close, and pressed his lips
very tightly together, covering his face with his
hands, as if he would forget everything outside and
around him, that he might be able the more surely
and find it easier really to talk to his Heavenly
Father with his heart, and Sam said-
"Please our Father, which art. in Heaven, to
listen to Sam, because he is trying ever so hard to
talk to our Father with his heart, and please to give

84 SAM.

Sam a good name, and then he will be able to go to
the old gentleman who was so kind to mother."
And then Sam opened his eyes to see if every-
thing was quiet. The boys still breathed heavily,
the fire still burnt badly.
How I wish I could tell Lizzie I have asked for
myself. Perhaps she's been asking too."
Sam wondered very much how his words could
get right through the thick brick arched roof, and
go up, and up, all amongst the stars, and find their
way through the dark blue sky; but Lizzie had
told him they would if they were spoken from the
heart, and not with the lips only, and Sam had great
faith in all Lizzie said.
The Bible says, When thou hast shut thy door,
pray to thy Father." Poor Sam had no quiet place
in that railway arch in which to say his prayers,
but God, who seeth in secret-He whose eyes can
see into our hearts, knew this, and He counted as a
room with shut doors Sam's earnest, wishing,
praying heart. There are many people besides Sam
who have no quiet place to pray in-many who, if
they pray at all, must pray in the midst of noise
and bustle-perhaps scoffed at, and ridiculed, and
even mocked by those of their own family. Let
such as these take example and comfort from Sam,
and remember that they have always the quiet
chambers of their own hearts, with which no one
can intermeddle. To pray, is to ask; we ask
because we want. If there was nothing we wanted

-if we had all our heart's desire-we need not
pray, we should not ask: neither do we ask for a
thing which we can get for ourselves-for a thing
within our own reach; we ask each other. We
pray to God for things we have no power to get for
ourselves. Is there any one who honestly feels, and
can say he wants nothing ? We all need, if we do
not as yet feel our want of it-forgiveness. The
washing out by the blood of Christ the ugly sin-
stains which so disfigure our hearts.
Sam knew nothing of this need-of this want:
he wanted a "good name." He felt he could not
get it himself: he had no power in that cave to earn
or gain it, therefore he asked God, and asked Him
very earnestly, with all his heart-(that is the way
to pray)-to give him a good name.
After a little more thinking-a little longer trial
to keep his eyes open and himself awake-tired
nature got the better of poor little Sam, and he
fell fast asleep, and slept soundly until after the
break of day, and then the boys in the cave began to
wake up and stir about, and this awoke Sam.
Sam rubbed his eyes and began to wonder where
he was and what had happened, but only for a
moment, the truth very soon flashed across his
mind, and then Sam was wide awake and ready for
action. The first thing to be done was to seek for
his brother Phil, but Phil was nowhere to be found;
he had already started on the day's errand. Sam

86 SAM.

thought Phil might just as well have waited for
Poor Sam, he did not know that Phil had crept
out of the cave purposely whilst he slept to avoid
being questioned by him. Most of the boys were
also gone. When Sam found that Phil had left, he
went at once to speak to the biggest boy remaining;
he was evidently the captain or leader of the band.
Sam afterwards discovered that this boy had quali-
fied himself for this distinction by pointing an
empty pistol at a maidservant's head in her own
master's garden. Sam merely said he wished to
leave the cave, as he had his own business to attend
to. The boy did not say much in reply; but from
the few words he did utter, Sam could see very
plainly that the captain intended to keep him a
prisoner. Sam's heart beat, and bounced, and
bumped against his scantily covered ribs as wildly
and resolutely as if bent on jumping out, just as a
dumpling bustles, and tumbles, and bounces about
in the saucepan when the,water begins to boil. And
no wonder, for Sam's anger was boiling and swelling
at the thought of not being able to get out of the
cave. Sam felt strong enough to knock the boy
down, but he did not; he did not even raise any
objection to being detained, for it struck Sam that
if he pretended not to care about it, they would
not watch him so narrowly, and he might be able
to seize an opportunity of escaping, so, with "hope
in his heart and eagles in his eyes (very little ever


escaped Sam's sharp, bright twinkling eyes), he sat
quietly down again on the ground and commenced
his observations, carefully nailing them on his
Phil did not return until quite late that evening.
Holloa, Sam!" he said, when he saw Sam, as if
surprised to find him still there. Ar'n't you gone ?
I expects you finds your apartmentss too comfor'ble to
give them up."
"No," said Sam, not quite in the humour to take
Phil's joke. No, that ain't the reason." And Sam
told Phil exactly what had passed between himself
and the captain.
"P'raps," replied Phil, "'tis because you don't
take to them as kindly as they'd like. I expects
they're a bit afraid of your rounding upon them.
'Twas their way with me when first I come amongst
"them. Dick, our captain, he's the boy you spoke
to, picked me up and brought me in just to warm
my hands by the fire, or summat like that; but he
never let me out again until they was pretty cer-
tain sure that I shouldn't split upon them. We was
soon as thick as "-Phil was going to say thieves,"
but he did not; he thought it was too near the
truth, so he said "hops in a bag" instead-" we
was soon as thick as hops in a bag.' I don't ex-
pect they feel at home-like wi' you-at least, not
quite. If they was to let you out you might round
upon us, and tell a few things as would break up
this establishment; 'tis no use standing' out and

88 SAM.

bein' obstinate. If I was you, Sam, I'd look plea-
sant and give in, you'd find it awfully jolly." Sam
was incomprehensible to Phil and his companions;
each one of them had cast off long ago all belief in
right and wrong, and were sunk deep down into
utter godlessness and untruthfulness.
Sam did not say so, but he was more than ever
determined to stand out and be obstinate. What
would become of His hope of gaining a good name
if he were to follow Phil's advice and look pleasant
upon and give in to what he knew was wrong ? Had
he not in the dull, solemn gloom of the, past night
asked Our Father to give him a good name ? And
what, he should like to know, was the use of asking
for a thing if you did not try yourself to get it ?
Sam was quite right. Although darkness and
ignorance were within, and around and about him,
the dawn-streak of true light was floating into his
child-heart. Sam felt the life stirring in his heart
and wondered what it was-wondered if Lizzie felt
as he did. Prayer is not only asking, it is seeking
as well. If we wish to pray as Christ has taught
us, we must ask, and not ask only, but seek, and
seek diligently, seek till we find, till we have what
we pray for.

<* '-~ -.'' -- "* *



SEVERAL days passed away in very much the same
manner as the first day Sam spent in the cave
-boys coming in and going out, sometimes return-
ing empty-handed, sometimes bringing back spoils
of fruit and bread, or birds, or meat, which they had
stolen, whilst other boys remained in the cave to
watch and guard it, or played "pitch and toss," or
other such games, just outside, all the while keeping
a sharp look-out for the police, and taking very
good care to retreat inside the cave when the signal
was given that "Bobbies" were in sight. The
cooking, and eating, and drinking went on in the
later part of the day, when there was less chance of
detection or interruption.
These were lingering, dreary days for poor Sam-
not that they appeared days at all to him, but only
like one long, never-ending, weary night. It always
seemed night inside the cave, for no glad gleam of
daylight, much less of sunlight, ever floated through
its dismal length arid breadth; day and night were
both alike there. The heavy, dull red light, more

90 SAM.

or less lent by the low fires, was all that Sam had to
cheer this dreary time. Sam was almost driven to
despair, and sometimes even sorely tempted to
"give in;" and yet not exactly to give in, but to
pretend he did; that would not be, argued Sam
with himself, the same as stealing-as bad as steal-
ing-it would only be doing evil that good might
come. Once out of the cave, he could earn money
to help his mother and Lizzie: he should have a
chance of earning a good name, which he never
could if he remained for ever in that horrid cave-
although he might keep himself as honest as the
Sam wondered he had not thought of this expe-
dient, this scheme, long before; it was a capital
idea-a famous plan-and Sam felt so delighted at
the thought of so easily and readily getting out of
his prison, that he began to screw up his mouth to
whistle a favourite air, but somehow he could not
quite manage it; he tried to sing a snatch of a song;
that was worse still-twice as difficult; not a note
could he utter-not a word could he sing. It was
very strange-but as true as strange. Sam had
fancied he felt happy-happy at the thought, at
any rate, of being free; but he was not a bit happy:
in fact, at that moment he felt more miserable than
ever he had been in his short life-with even cold
and hunger walking on either side of him. It was
no use to try to whistle or sing, that was quite clear;
so Sam set to work and busied himself with his


own thoughts-busied himself with planning how
it was all to be managed. Stranger still, the longer
he thought the matter over, and the nearer and
nearer the details of his scheme approached, and he
had to stare them full in the face, the uglier and
worse it all looked. Nothing short of actual theft
would satisfy the captain of his sincerity. Nothing
less than a lie would be his promise not to "round"
upon them.
"Stealin' and lies," said Sam, thrusting his hands
into his pockets, and compressing his lips so tightly
that they disappeared completely inside his mouth,
making it look no bigger than a button-hole, and
just as straight-" whichever way I looks at it, 'tis
stealin' and lies, and nothing' else, goin' hand in
hand. Lies is lies, altho' they may come in con-
venient-like; and stealin' is stealin', although we
may promise ourselves we don't mean it, and won't
prig again-and altho' it goes, as you mid say,
against Yer stomich."
Sam shook his head knowingly, as if perfectly
satisfied with his own argument. He continued
speaking to himself-
Sam ain't going to turn thief nor liar, even to
please his-self or suit his own convenience. No,
Sam; if lies and thievings is to be the only
crutches as is to help you walk out of this 'ere cave,
you'll have to bide in it a good bit longer. No,
Sam, you must set about thinking of summat better
than that 'ere, or else you'll have to content yourself

0g SAM.

with a bad name, as is of no value, instead of a
good 'un, as is, as the old gen'lman says, rather to
be chosen than great riches."
Sam was quite right; but we must remember
that he is only a small boy, and not wonder that
when he found that the chance of gaining his liberty
had all faded away, that he felt dreadfully disap-
pointed, and that his young heart seemed dragged
down with despair-his future looked to him as
dark as the very cave in which he was shut up,
and as dreary and hopeless. It was not all dark-
ness in poor little Sam's heart. When he first
prayed to "our Father," a little light-the faintest
ray of God's grace, as small as the grain of mustard
seed-came floating into his heart, and now the
little light springs up again-is, so to speak, re-
kindled when all seems to be darkest.
"I aint good," thought Sam-" I know I aint. I
mean not like them salt people-good people-that
the minister spoke of that evening when I sat on
the roof of the houses and listened to all he had to
say. I know I aint nohow like them; but I should
just like to know if I was a good boy-I mean a
salt boy, instead of Sam, shut up in this 'ere place-
what I should do to get out. Well, I guess he'd be
hiding his face-just as the people in that 'ere church
hid their faces-and he'd talk to 'our Father' with
his heart, and ask Him to get him out-ay, that's
it, Sam-you've got hold of the right plan now !"
So Sam made up his mind when night came, and


the boys. were all fast asleep, and the trains had
ceased to rumble and roll overhead, to ask "our
Father" to get him out of the cave. That's what
Lizzie would do," decided Sam; "and Lizzie's a
salt girl, I'm sure, or she would never have known
nothing about talking to our Father with her
That very night, true to his resolution-" Lifting
to pitying Heaven his piteous eyes"-Sam prayed-
as he had prayed a few nights before-to God, Sam's
" Our Father in Heaven," to ask Him to get him
out of the cave. Who can say that in God's myste-
terious providence Sam was not brought to the cave
Separate from the world, his breast
Might deeply take and strongly keep
The print of Heaven V"
A few other days passed, and yet no change came
over poor little Sam's condition. He fancied that
there seemed to be.a commotion amongst the boys
-that there was something which was disturbing
their usual proceedings. There was less going in
and out of the archway, fewer spoils brought in, and
the fires were barely kept alive. The boys stood in
groups, and talked together in low, inaudible
whispers. Something was evidently wrong.
Meanwhile in Sam's heart hope revived. It is an
ill wind that blows nobody any good. Sam kept a
very sharp look-out, and watched the movements of
all the boys very narrowly. He could not hear a

94 SAM.

word they said, but he observed that the entrances
to the archway were each guarded by two of the
strongest and biggest boys. Sam said nothing, but
he wondered very much why this was done. It
could not be on his own account, he felt quite sure,
because he had never made the slightest attempt to
effect his escape. It was not long before Phil came
up to talk to Sam. He seemed a good deal excited,
his small, blear eyes doing their best to twinkle, and
his shapeless lips quivering as if there was some-
thing behind which he was in a great hurry to
utter. Perhaps in the excitement of the moment
he forgot that Sam was not one of the band-not
one of the initiated. Coming up quite close to
Sam, and screening his mouth with his hand, that
there might be less chance of anybody else hearing
what he said, he whispered into Sam's ears-
"The bobbies are watching us !"
How do you know they are ?' asked Sam,
trying to appear quite unconcerned, but in reality
his heart beat so fast he could scarcely speak.
How do I know ? Why, I was playing pitch-
and-toss outside the fence, and I saw two bobbies
coming up. I and the others gave the alarm and
came in to hide ourselves."
"What will ye do if they goes on watching,"
asked Sam, whispering anxiously.
"Why, stay quiet in here, to be sure, or else bolt
if necessary; that is, if the bobbies finds their way


Bolt if necessary." These were few, but pleasant
words to Sam, and chimed as merrily in his ear, and
as musically in his heart, as a clamorous obstreperous
peal of joy bells. Sam saw in them, hope for him-
self; because of course, if the boys all left the cave,
he could go too. Sam could have whistled any tune,
or sung any air at that moment, his heart felt so
much lighter, so much happier: lighter and happier
because his conscience was not terrifying him with
ugly thoughts of thefts and lies.
This very evening, when the policemen were
pacing up and down with measured heavy step
outside the enclosed archway, waiting to catch any
of the young thieves who might go in or out, and
the boys themselves, with listening ears and beating
hearts, were watching and waiting inside, was the
evening when Lizzie, groping in the deep, dark
shadow, cast by the high railway viaduct, saw the two
figures taller and stouter than Phil walking up and
down and who she afterwards discovered by their
dress to be policemen. It was that same evening that
we left Lizzie standing on tip-toe listening to catch
the faintest sound of voices, peeping through the
narrowest possible crevice in the wooden fencing to
satisfy herself that the feeble glimmering light she
fancied she had discovered, did not proceed from the
uncertain wandering light of some not far distant
flickering street lamp. At that very moment Phil
and Sam were whispering together.
How poor Lizzie's languid eye would have