He
carried a basket upon one arm, and a cane with a crook for a handle
hung upon the other. He seemed very patient, for he was waiting,
unmurmuringly, for some one to come in answer to the ring he had given
the area-bell some fifteen minutes before. No one came, and he
appeared to be considering whether to ring again or go away, when
Lionel skipped nimbly from his chair by the drawing-room window,
slipped noiselessly down the basement stairs, and opened the area-door
just in time to prevent the beggar from taking his departure.
"What do you want, sir?" inquired Lionel, politely, through the tall
iron gate.
The beggar turned around at the sound of the child's voice, and replied:
"I have come to beg--"
"Oh, yes, I know," cried Lionel, hurriedly (he was afraid some one
might come, and then he would be snatched unceremoniously away from the
open door, and the beggar sent smartly about his business by one of the
pert-tongued maids); "but is it for cold victuals or money?"
The beggar looked down at the little lad, and a smile, half of pity,
half of amusement, lit up his grave features for a moment. "I have
come to beg," he said slowly, "that you will receive from me, not that
you will give to me."
Lionel's eyes widened with amazement. "That I will receive from you?"
he repeated slowly. "Then you are n't a beggar at all?"
"Most assuredly I am," responded the old man, promptly.
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