"
And flinging the tools back into the box, the man, who had already
drunk too much on his way home, lurched off to the "Blue Dragon," where
all his evenings now were spent. But his wife sat over the fire and
looked at the grate Dick had laboriously black-leaded that morning, and
her thoughts were busy with the past. And her long sleeping conscience
was awake, and she heard again the feeble voice of a dying man, "Send
this letter to brother Richard at once. We quarrelled before he went
off to Ironboro', but he'll come and see to things and take charge of
little Dick. And there'll be enough to pay for his upbringing, when
all's said and done." But the letter was conveniently forgotten, and
presently thrust into the flames, and the leathern pouch with its store
of gold greedily taken possession of, as soon as the lodger 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.
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