Timothy Chance went from Mr. Loveday's shop with the warm new-laid egg in his hand. By permission of the bookseller he left his one possession, the fowl rescued from the burning schoolhouse, behind him, Mr. Loveday saying, jocosely,

"If it lays another egg to-day, Timothy, I shall claim it."

"All right, sir," Timothy had replied. "It won't lay another to-day, but there will be one to-morrow. It's a bird that can earn its own living."

A remark which caused Mr. Loveday to laugh, and to think: "You're a clever fellow, Timothy. There's stuff in you."

Nearly everybody within hail of Church Alley who was familiar with Timothy's face was always pleased to see him, and indeed it may with truth be averred that he had not an enemy. This pleasant fact was the reward of his willing and cheerful spirit, which invariably prompted him to do a good turn if it was in his power. But he had one especial friend for whom, above all others, he had a deep regard. The name of this friend was Teddy Meadows, a lad about the same age as himself, and of about the same build. The liking for each other which existed between these lads might have ripened into a firm and lasting bond of friendship in their manhood, had circumstances been favorable. It had commenced with a timely service which Timothy rendered Teddy some years before. Teddy, although as tall as Timothy, was of a weakly constitution, and suffered from lameness. One day, while crossing the Whitechapel Road, he fell under the feet of a horse which was drawing a loaded hay-cart, and had it not been for Timothy rushing forward and dragging him away, he would probably have received fatal injuries. As it was, he was much shaken, and Timothy had to carry him home. The parents were grateful to Timothy for the rescue, and thus the bond between him and Teddy was commenced. Teddy's father was a carpenter, and not a bad one, and being a steady man and a capable, was successful in obtaining pretty steady work. He had a fairly comfortable home, and, without being able to put by much money for a rainy day, kept his family in comfort. Their one sorrow was Teddy's lameness and his weak constitution.

It was to Teddy's house that Timothy wended his way when he left Mr. Loveday's shop, not only because of his desire to see his friend and to relate his adventures, but because he had a vague hope that Teddy might be able to advise how he was to obtain a decent suit of clothes. On the road he met Mr. Meadows, and he fancied that Teddy's father was graver than usual; there were certainly signs of trouble in Mr. Meadows's face. "Perhaps he's out of work," thought Timothy. He went up to Mr. Meadows, and accosted him.

"It's a long time since we've seen you," said Mr. Meadows. He spoke absently, and did not seem to observe how poorly Timothy was dressed.

"I've been in the country," said Timothy, "but the gentleman I worked for was burnt out last week."

"That's unfortunate," said Mr. Meadows. "There's more trouble in the world than there ought to be."

Timothy supposed that Mr. Meadows made this remark because he was out of employment, and he did not think it right to comment upon it. From a young lad to a grown man with a family it might savor of impertinence.

"I have just come back to London," he said, "and I was going to see Teddy."

"Were you?" The father's face brightened a little, then fell again. "He'll be glad to see you. He has often spoken of you, especially lately. My poor boy!" He almost broke down.

Timothy's heart sank within him.

"Is Teddy unwell?" he asked.

"He is very ill," replied Mr. Meadows, turning his head.

"Very ill?" said Timothy, with sudden terror.

"Very, very ill." He turned his face again to Timothy, grateful for the note of sympathy in the lad's voice, and then Timothy saw that his eyes were filled with tears.

"Oh, I am so sorry, so sorry!" said Timothy, unable to restrain his own tears. "Not seriously, Mr. Meadows; not seriously, I hope."

"Yes, seriously," said Mr. Meadows, sadly, and he laid a kind hand on Timothy's shoulder. "But go and see him. He will be glad." And saying this, and afraid to trust himself further, Mr. Meadows hurried away to his work.

Timothy walked slowly on, greatly shocked by the sorrowful news. Mr. Meadows's voice and manner denoted that he feared the worst. The worst? Yes, perhaps death.

It stirred Timothy's heart deeply; a wave of sorrow was passing over it, and he had never till this moment realized how much he loved the young friend who was lying in such peril. His own troubles were forgotten; he thought only of poor Teddy.

He quickened his steps, and soon reached Mr. Meadows's house. He was about to knock at the street door, when it opened, and a gentleman came from the house, saying to Mrs. Meadows, who stood on the door-step:

"Remember--a new-laid egg."

Timothy started, and looked after the doctor. Then he went up to Mrs. Meadows.

"Oh, Tim!" sobbed the woman, "my poor boy is dying!"

"Is the new-laid egg for Teddy?" asked Timothy, in a shaking voice.

"Yes. It is the only thing, mixed with a little wine, the doctor says, that will keep strength in him till his father comes back from work."

"I have brought one, Mrs. Meadows," said Timothy, sadly. "You may be sure it is new-laid--only half an hour ago."

"God bless you!" said Mrs. Meadows. "Come in, my dear. Teddy will be so glad to see you!"