Dick Lionheart | Page 6

was dead. And like all ill-gotten gains, the gold rapidly melted away.
"Who could have knowed about it, and told the boy?" she muttered with growing anxiety, as she went to the door to look out for the runaway.
But there was nothing but the murky gloom, with a faint reflection of light from the lamps far down the road, and a noise of rough play in the distance. The children of the row--her own among them--were having their usual street games in spite of the fog and chill, but Dick would not be there, she knew. For he was different from the rest, and hated the rough horse-play and bad language with all his might.
"I must have a sup to make me forget it," she muttered again. "He looked for all the world like his father. I told Fowley at the time it would come home to us, and it will."
Noisily the children came in, clamoured for supper, and took it in their dirty hands, and then went to bed.
Their father was helped home at closing time, too far gone to remember what had happened, but no Dick came in.
Bareheaded he had run away through the fog, his thin jacket and broken boots a poor protection from the biting cold, but in his excitement he scarcely felt it.
In a hiding place in the lining of his old jacket he had the little pocket Bible that had been his mother's gift, with his name, Richard Hart Crosby, on the fly leaf.
Folded small within it were the torn remains of a once handsome crimson and blue silk handkerchief, the only memento of his father he possessed. Somehow it had escaped the utter destruction that visited all good things in Mrs. Fowley's keeping, and Dick treasured it more than words could tell.
Feeling with his hand to be sure his treasures were safe, he ran breathlessly on to Paddy's lodgings, in a back street not far from the tin works.
Paddy had good work and fair wages, and might have been comfortably off, but, alas, the "Blue Dragon" was not the only evil beast in Venley, and much of Paddy's money went to the till of the "Brown Bear" at the corner. Not that he drank deeply himself, but he loved the warmth and company, and was too generous to others in the matter of treating. There was always a chorus of welcome for Paddy when he entered the bar.
But to-night he was at home, busily engaged in putting a clumsy patch on his blue "slop" jacket, and he answered Dick's timid knock with a boisterous welcome.
"And have ye railly left the wretches entirely and going off to Ironboro' to seek your fortin? Shure, and its could weather for the job. And of course ye want Pat. But ye can't have him to-night. Come and have a bite and a sup and share me cot, and ye can be off in the mornin' before anybody's astir, if ye like. Down then, me beauty; shure and ye needn't' be so glad at the prospect of leaving Paddy!"
For Pat was wagging his short tail and barking and jumping in a storm of delight, while Dick hugged him with the blissful thought that now he would have him for always.
"You're so good to me," he cried gratefully, "but I'm afraid they'll find me if I wait till morning."
"Not they. Let me look at your boots."
Dick held up a shabby foot, and Paddy sniffed in disdain. Two of the Fowley's had worn the boots in turn, and they were now falling apart from stress of wear and weather.
"They're no good for the road, me boy. We'll see." And soon a supper of herrings and bread and butter and tea smoked invitingly on the table, and when this had been disposed of Paddy went out, locking the door.
In a surprisingly short time he came back with a stout pair of boots and some warm stockings, and a half-worn cloth overcoat and cap. "Shure, and ye won't mind their coming from the second-hand shop with the three yallow balls put up for ornyment. Me uncle lives there and he's very obligin'."
Dick flushed with a mixture of gratitude and shrinking. All his experiences at the Fowley's had not made him like to wear other people's clothes. But the boots were such a good fit. And the jacket would keep him so warm and be such a grand bed quilt if he and Pat had to sleep out.
But how could he take so much from Paddy? The Irishman's quick eyes saw and understood, and he said easily, "You can pay me back when you're Lord Mayor of Ironboro', with a gold chain round your neck and Pat with a leather collar and a brass plate to tell his name and nation."
"I'll pay long before