One who could have told him of his mother; one who, if he had only taken the courage to have mentioned his name, could have taken tidings of his condition to her, or perhaps would have carried him home, had been beside him for half an hour, and he had not spoken out.

And now he was gone.

He felt so sick and weak that he could hardly stand.
From his sad, waking dreams he was roughly startled by the loud, sharp voice of his mistress, who, attracted by the strong expressions of Doctor R--, now entered the shop, exclaiming-- "What's all this?
What's that little wretch been doing now, ha ?" "I wish I'd never seen him!" muttered Sharp, but in a tone that left no doubt on the mind of his wife that something more than usually annoying had occurred.
"What's the matter?
What's he been doing?
Not stealing, I hope; though I shouldn't wonder." "He's sick, and you've got to take care of him," was the dogged answer of Sharp.
"Sick! He looks sick, don't he ?" The tones of the virago were full of contempt.
Any eye but hers would have seen sickness, sorrow, suffering, and want in the pale, frightened face of the poor boy, as he stood trembling beside the counter, and actually clinging to it for support.
"Who was that in here, just now ?" she added.
"Doctor R--, of Boston," replied the hatter, who knew the doctor by sight very well.
"What did he want ?" "He picked Henry up in the street and took him over to the drug store at the corner.

Then he brought him home in his carriage.

He says that he must be taken care of, or he will become a cripple; that it's the worst case of chilblains he ever saw; and that his feet are in danger of mortification." "I don't believe a word of it.