But, as
frequently happens, Jimmy was all the more endeared to his mother
and brother by his misfortune and bodily weakness, and if either were
obliged to suffer from poverty, Jimmy would be spared the suffering.
"Well, Jimmy, have you had a pleasant walk?" asked his mother.
"Yes, mother; I went down to Fulton Market. There's a good deal to see
there."
"A good deal more than in this dull room, Jimmy."
"It doesn't seem dull to me, mother, while you are here. How did you
make out selling your prize packages?"
"They are all sold, Jimmy, every one. I am making some more."
"Shan't I help you?"
"Yes, I would like to have you. Just take those envelopes, and write
prize packages on every one of them."
"All right, Paul," and Jimmy, glad to be of use, got the pen and ink,
and, gathering up the envelopes, began to inscribe them as he had been
instructed.
By the time the packages were made up, dinner was ready. It was not a
very luxurious repast. There was a small piece of rump steak--not more
than three-quarters of a pound--a few potatoes, a loaf of bread, and a
small plate of butter. That was all; but then the cloth that covered
the table was neat and clean, and the knives and forks were as bright as
new, and what there was tasted good.
"What have you been doing this morning, Jimmy?" asked Paul.
"I have been drawing, Paul.
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