Billy was a small boy of ten; he was thin and wiry, had a freckled face,and a good deal of short, rather stumpy red hair.
He was by no means young-looking for his ten years; and only that hisfigure was small, his shoulders narrow, and his little legs sadly likespindles, he might have passed for a boy of twelve or thirteen.
Billy had a weight of care upon his shoulders--he had the entire charge ofa baby.
The baby was a year old, fairly heavy, fairly well grown; she was cuttingher teeth badly, and in consequence was often cross and unmanageable.
Billy had to do with her night and day, and no one who saw the twotogether could for a moment wonder at the premature lines of care about hissmall thin face.
A year ago, on a certain January morning, Billy had been called away from adelightful game of hop-scotch. A red-faced woman had come to the door of atall house, which over-looked the alley where Billy was playing socontentedly, and beckoned him mysteriously to follow her.
"Yer'd better make no noise, and take off those heavy clumps of shoes," sheremarked.
Billy looked down at his small feet, on which some very large andmuch-battered specimens of the shoemaker's craft were hanging loosely.
"I can shuffle of 'em off right there, under the stairs," he remarked,raising his blue eyes in a confident manner to the red-faced woman.
She nodded, but did not trouble to speak further, and barefooted Billycrept up the stairs; up and up, until he came to an attic room, which heknew well, for it represented his home.
He was still fresh from his hop-scotch, and eager to go back to his game;and when a thin, rather rasping woman's voice called him, he ran up eagerlyto a bedside.
"Wot is it, mother? I want to go back to punch Tom Jones."
Alas! for poor Billy--his fate was fixed from that moment, and the wildbird was caged.
"Another time, Billy," said his mother; "you 'as got other work to see tonow. Pull down the bedclothes, and look wot's under 'em."
Billy eagerly drew aside the dirty counterpane and sheet, and saw a verysmall and pink morsel of humanity--a morsel of humanity which greeted hisrough intrusion on her privacy with several contortions of the tinyfeatures, and some piercing screams.
"Why, sakes alive, ef it ain't a baby," said Billy, falling back a step ortwo in astonishment.
"Yes, Billy," replied his mother, "and she's to be your baby, for I can'tdo no charring and mind her as well, so set down by the fire, this minuteand mind her right away."
Billy did not dream of objecting; he seated himself patiently andinstantly, and thought with a very faint sigh of Tom Jones, whose head heso ached to punch.
Tom Jones would be victorious at hop-scotch, and he would not be present toabate his pride.