It was a trying moment for the poor little lonely boy; however, this time he didn’t ask Tom what he might or might not do, but dropped on his knees by his bed-side as he had done every day from his childhood, to open his heart to Him who heareth the cry and beareth the sorrows of the tender child, and the agony of the strong man.

Tom was sitting at the bottom of his bed unlacing his boots, so that his back was towards Arthur, and he didn’t see what had happened, and looked up in wonder at the sudden silence. Then two or three boys laughed and sneered, and a big brutal fellow who was standing in the middle of the room, picked up a slipper and shied it at the kneeling boy, calling him a snivelling young shaver. Then Tom saw the whole, and the next moment the boot he had just pulled off flew straight at the head of the bully, who had just time to throw up his arm and catch it on his elbow.

“Confound you, Brown, what’s that for?” roared he, stamping with pain.

“Never mind what I mean,” said Tom, stepping onto the floor, every drop of blood in his body tingling, “if any fellow wants the other boot, he knows how to get it!”