“They’ve given it to you, Antony,” replied Mr. Ross, “those are the clothes you will go home in to-morrow.”

It seemed too much for Tony to believe, though a nurse who was sitting by and sewing away busily, told him it was quite true.  He was intensely happy all the rest of the day, often standing up, and almost straining his neck to get a satisfactory view of his own back, and stroking the nap of his blue trousers with a fondling touch.  They would all see him in it; old Oliver, Dolly, and aunt Charlotte.  There would be no question now as to his fitness for taking Dolly out for a walk; he would be dressed well enough to attend upon a princess.  This made famous amends for the pair of old boots he had lost the night he broke his leg; a loss he had often silently lamented over in his own mind.  The nurse told him she was patching up his old clothes, and making him a cap, to wear when he was at work on his crossing, for the new ones were much too good for that; and Tony felt as rich as if a large fortune had been left to him.

It was a very joyful thing to go home again.  Dolly was a little shy at first of this new Tony, so different from the poor, ragged, wild-looking old Tony; but a very short time was enough to make her familiar with his nice blue suit, and the anchor-buttons upon it.  He found his place under the counter all nicely papered to keep the draughts out; and a little chaff mattress, made by aunt Charlotte, laid down instead of the shavings upon the floor.  It was even pleasanter to be here than in the hospital.

But Tony found it hard work to go back to his crossing in the morning; and he could not make out what was the matter with himself, he felt so cross and idle.  His old clothes seemed really such horrid rags that he could scarcely bear to feel them about him; and if any passer-by looked closely at him, he went red and hot all over.  He was not so successful as he thought he had been before his accident, or as he thought he ought to be; for the roads were getting cleaner with the drier weather, and few persons considered it necessary to give him a copper for his almost needless labour.  Worst of all,—­Clever Dog Tom found him out, and would come often to see him; sometimes jeering him for his poor spirit in being content with such low work, and sometimes boasting of the fine things he could do, and displaying the fine clothes he could wear.  It was truly very hard work for Tony, after his long holiday at the hospital, where he had had as much luxury and attention as a rich man’s son.

But at home in the evening Tony felt all right again.  Old Oliver set him to learn to read and write, and he was making rapid progress, more rapid than Dolly, who began at the same time, but who was apt to look upon it all as only another kind of game, of which she grew more quickly tired than of hide-and-seek.  There was no one to check her, or to make her understand it was real, serious work:  neither old Oliver