18 FACING THE WORLD.

was warmed and fed — he had evidently been on his
legs the whole day —then sent him off to his bed,
where she soon heard him delightfully snoring,
oblivious of all his cares.

The same thing went on day after day, for seven
days. Sometimes he told his mother what had
happened to him and
where he had been,
sometimes not; what
was the good of tell-

same story. Nobody
wanted a boy or a
man, for Donald, trust-
ing to his inches and
his coat, had applied
for man’s work also,
but in vain. Mrs. Boyd was not astonished. She
knew how hard it is to get one’s foot into ever so
small a corner in this busy world, where ten are
always struggling for the place of one, Still, she
also knew that it never does to give in; that one
must leave no stone unturned if one wishes to get
work at all. Also she believed firmly in an axiom
of her youth — “ Nothing is denied to well-directed
labor.’ But it must be real hard “labor,” and it
must also be “well‘directed.” So, though her
heart ached sorely, as only a mother’s can, she
never betrayed it, but each morning sent her boy
away with a cheerful face, and each evening
received him with one, which, if less cheerful, was
not less sympathetic, but she never said a word.

At the week’s end, in fact, on Sunday morning,
as they were walking to church, Donald said to her:
“Mother, my new clothes haven’t been of the
slightest good. I’ve been all over Edinburgh, to
every place I could think of — writers’ offices, mer-
chants’ offices, wharves, railway-stations — but it’s
no use. Everybody wants to: know where I’ve
been before, and I’ve been nowhere except to
school. I said I was willing to learn, but nobody
will teach me; they say they can’t afford it. It is
like keeping a dog, and barking yourself. Which
is only too true,” added Donald, with a heavy
sigh.

“May be,” said Mrs. Boyd. Yet as she looked
up at ber son—she really did look up at him, he
was so tall —she felt that if his honest, intelligent
face and manly bearing did not win something at
last, what was the world coming to? “My boy,”

 

MRS. BOYD.

ing? it was always the -

she said, “things are very hard for you, but not
harder than for others. 1 remember once, when |
was only a few years older than you, finding my-
self with only half a crown in my pocket. To be

sure it was a whole half-crown, for I had paid i

every half-penny I owed that morning, but I had

no idea where the next half-crown would come.”
from. However, it did come. I earned two pounds _~

ten, the very day after that day.”

“Did you really, mother?” said Donald, his o
I'll not.

eyes brightening. “Then J’ll go on.
‘gang awa back to my mither,’ as that old gentle. .

man advised me, who objected to bark himself; a» o

queer, crabbed old fellow he was too, but he was.

the only one who asked my name and address. =

The rest of them — well, mother, I’ve stood a good
deal these seven days,” Donald added, gulping

down something between a “fuff” of wrath and e ‘

sob.
“T am sure you have, my boy.”

“But Pt hold on; only you'll have to get my :
boots mended, and meantime, I should like to try ,

a new dodge. My bicycle, it lies in the washing.

 

 

 

house ; you remember I broke it and you didn't a

wish it mended, lest I should break something
worse than a wheel, perhaps.

It wasn’t worth ~
while risking my life for mere pleasure, but I want —

my bicycle now for use. If you let me have it»

2)

mended, I can go up and down the country for .

fifty miles in search of work —to Falkirk, Linlith-_
gow, or even Glasgow, and I'll cost you nothing
for travelling expenses.
mother?”

She had not the heart to say no, or to suggest thal
a boy on a bicycle applying for work, was a thing
too novel to be eminently successful.

eagerness and pluck. She hoped too, that, spite ”
of the eccentricity of the notion, some shrewd,
kind-hearted gentleman might have sense enough
to see the honest purpose of the poor lad who had
only himself to depend upon. For his father had.
now fallen into a state of depression which made.
all application to him for either advice or help
worse than useless. And as both he and Mrs. Boys

had been solitary orphans when they were married,

Isn’t that a bright idea. —

But to get
work was at once so essential and so hopeless, thal
she would not throw any cold water on Donald's

there were no near relatives of any kind to comts S

to the rescue.

Donald knew, and his mother knew.
too, that he must shift for himself, to sink or swim Be