“Now I do perceive that you are a Quaker,” replied Tim; “but do not blame me until you have heard my story.  Thank God, I have found you at last.  But tell me, Japhet, you will not send me away—­will you?  If your dress is changed, your heart is not.  Pray answer me, before I say nything more.  You know I can be useful here.”

“Indeed, Timothy, I have often wished for you since I have been here, and it will be your own fault if I part with you.  You shall assist me in the shop; but you must dress like me.”

“Dress like you! have I not always dressed like you?  When we started from Cophagus’s, were we not dressed much alike? did we not wear spangled jackets together? did I not wear your livery, and belong to you?  I’ll put on anything, Japhet—­but we must not part again.”

“My dear Timothy, I trust we shall not; but I expect my assistant here soon, and do not wish that he should see you in that garb.  Go to a small public-house at the farther end of this street, and when you see me pass, come out to me, and we will walk out into the country, and consult together.”

“I have put up at a small house not far off, and have some clothes there; I will alter my dress and meet you.  God bless you, Japhet.”

Timothy then picked up his ballads, which were scattered on the floor, put up his leg, and putting on his wooden stump, hastened away, after once more silently pressing my hand.

In half an hour my assistant returned, and I desired him to remain in the shop, as I was going out on business.  I then walked to the appointed rendezvous, and was soon joined by Tim, who had discarded his sailor’s disguise, and was in what is called a shabby genteel sort of dress.  After the first renewed greeting, I requested Tim to let me know what had occurred to him since our separation.

“You cannot imagine, Japhet, what my feelings were when I found, by your note, that you had left me.  I had perceived how unhappy you had been for a long while, and I was equally distressed, although I knew not the cause.  I had no idea until I got your letter, that you had lost all your money; and I felt it more unkind of you to leave me then, than if you had been comfortable and independent.  As for looking after you, that I knew would be useless; and I immediately went to Mr Masterton, to take his advice as to how I should proceed.  Mr Masterton had received your letter, and appeared to be very much annoyed.  ‘Very foolish boy,’ said he, ’but there is nothing that can be done now.  He is mad, and that is all that can be said in his excuse.  You must do as he tells you, I suppose, and try the best for yourself.  I will help you in any way that I can, my poor fellow,’ said he, ‘so don’t cry.’  I went back to the house and collected together your papers, which I sealed up.  I knew that the house was to be given up in a few days.  I sold the furniture, and made the best I could of the remainder of your wardrobe, and other things of value that you had left; indeed, everything, with the exception of the dressing-case and pistols, which had belonged to Major Carbonnell, and I thought you might perhaps some day like to have them.”