“And Lazarus?”

“Yes, and him too. But don’t you tell my father! We should have no peace in our place, if that got touched upon. It’s my sister’s contriving.”

“You seem to have a good sister.”

“She ain’t half bad,” said the boy; “but if she knows her letters it’s the most she does⁠—and them I learned her.”

The gloomy Eugene, with his hands in his pockets, had strolled in and assisted at the latter part of the dialogue; when the boy spoke these words slightingly of his sister, he took him roughly enough by the chin, and turned up his face to look at it.

“Well, I’m sure, sir!” said the boy, resisting; “I hope you’ll know me again.”