That evening George wrote a letter to Dr. Jeffries at Croydon, saying that he had taken a little house for his mother to come to when she came out of the infirmary, and as he had kindly said that he would render her help if he could, would he be good enough to write to the agent whose address he gave, saying that Mrs. Andrews, who was about taking No. 8 Laburnum Villas, was a person of respectability.  
The following evening he received a letter from the doctor saying that he had written to the agent, and that he was glad indeed to hear that George was getting on so well that he was able to provide a home for his mother.
 
On Wednesday at dinner-time Mrs. Grimstone handed George a key.
 
"There you are, George. You are master of the house now. The agent said the reference was most satisfactory; so I paid him the seven and sixpence you gave me for a week's rent in advance, and you can go in when you like. We shall be sorry to lose you both, for I don't want two better lodgers. You don't give no trouble, and all has[Pg 75] been quiet and pleasant in the house; and to think what a taking I was in that day as Bob brought you here for the first time, to think as he had let the room to two boys. But there, one never knows, and I wouldn't have believed it as boys could be so quiet in a house."
 
"Now we must begin to see about furniture," Bob Grimstone said. "The best plan, I think, will be for you two to go round of an evening to all the shops in the neighborhood, and mark off just what you think will suit you. You put down the prices stuck on them, and just what they are, and then the missis can go in the morning and bargain for them. She will get them five shillings in the pound cheaper than you would. It's wonderful how women do beat men down, to be sure. When a man hears what's the price of a thing he leaves it or takes it just as he likes, but a woman begins by offering half the sum. Then the chap says no, and she makes as if she was going away; he lets her go a little way and then he hollers after her, and comes down a goodish bit in the price. Then she says she don't particularly want it and shouldn't think of giving any such price as that. Then he tries again, and so they gets on till they hit on a figure as suits them both. You see that little tea-caddy in the corner? My wife was just three weeks buying that caddy. The chap wanted seven and six for it, and she offered him half a crown. He came down half a crown at the end of[Pg 76] the first week, and at last she got it for three and nine. Now, the first thing you have got to do is to make out a list. First of all you have got to put down the things as you must have, and then the things you can do without, though you will get them if you can afford it. Mother will help you at that."
 
So Mrs. Grimstone and George sat down with paper and a pencil, and George was absolutely horrified at the list of things which Mrs. Grimstone declared were absolutely indispensable. However, after much discussion, some few items were marked as doubtful. When the list was finished the two boys started on an exploring expedition, and the next week all their evenings were fully occupied. In ten days after they began the three bedrooms and the kitchen were really smartly furnished, Mrs. Grimstone proving a wonderful hand at bargaining, and making the ten pounds go farther than George had believed possible. On the Sunday Bob went with his wife and the boys to inspect the house.
 
"It's a very comfortable little place," he said, "and that front bedroom with the chintz curtains the missis made up is as nice a little room as you want to see. As to the others they will do well enough for you boys."
 
The only articles of furniture in the sitting room were two long muslin curtains, which Mrs. Grimstone had bought a bargain at a shop selling off;[Pg 77] for it was agreed that this was necessary to give the house a furnished appearance. Bob Grimstone was so much pleased at what had been done that he shared George's feeling of regret that one of the sitting rooms could not also be furnished, and on the walk home said:
 
"Look here, George. I know you would like to have the house nice for your mother. You couldn't make one of those sitting rooms comfortable not under a five-pound note, not even with the missis to market for you, but you might for that. I have got a little money laid by in the savings-bank, and I will lend you five pounds, and welcome, if you like to take it. I know it will be just as safe with you as it will be there."
 
"Thank you very much, Bob—thank you very much, but I won't take it. In the first place, I should like mother to know that the furniture is all ours, bought out of Bill's savings and mine; and in the next place, I should find it hard at first to pay back anything. I think we can just manage on our money, but that will be all. I told you mother does work, but she mayn't be able to get any at first, so we can't reckon on that. When she does, you know, we shall be able gradually to buy the furniture."
 
"Well, perhaps you are right, George," the man said after a pause. "You would have been welcome to the money: but perhaps you are right not to take it. I borrowed a little money when I first[Pg 78] went into housekeeping, and it took a wonderful trouble to pay off, and if there's illness or anything of that sort it weighs on you. Not that I should be in any hurry about it. It wouldn't worry me, but it would worry you."
 
A week later Mrs. Andrews was to leave the infirmary, and on Saturday George asked for a day off to go down to fetch her. Every evening through the week he and Bill had worked away at digging up the garden. Fortunately there was a moon, for it was dark by the time they came out from the works. Bill was charged with the commission to lay in the store of provisions for the Sunday, and he was to be sure to have a capital fire and tea ready by four o'clock, the hour at which George calculated he would be back.
 
Very delighted was George as in his best suit—for he and Bill had two suits each now—he stepped out of the train at Croydon and walked to the workhouse. His mother had told him that she would meet him at the gate at half-past two, and punctually at the time he was there. A few minutes later Mrs. Andrews came out, not dressed as he had seen her at Christmas, in the infirmary garb, but in her own clothes. George gave a cry of delight as he ran forward to meet her.
 
"My darling mother! and you are looking quite yourself again."
 
"I am, thank God, George. It has seemed a long nine months, but the rest and quiet have done[Pg 79] wonders for me. Everyone has been very kind; and of course the knowledge, dear boy, that you had got work that you liked helped me to get strong again. And you are looking well too; and your friend, I hope he is well?"
 
"Quite well, mother, but in a great fright about you. He is glad you are coming because I am glad; but the poor fellow has quite made up his mind that you won't like him and you won't think him a fit companion for me. I told him over and over again that you are not that sort; but nothing can persuade him. Of course, mother, he doesn't talk good grammar, and he uses some queer expressions; but he is very much changed in that way since I first knew him, and he tries very hard, and don't mind a bit how often I correct him, and he is beginning to read easy words quite well; and he is one of the best-hearted fellows in the world."
 
"If he is kind to you, George, and fond of you, that's enough for me," Mrs. Andrews said; "but I have no doubt I shall soon like him for himself. You could not like him as much as you do if there were not something nice about him. And you have succeeded in getting a room for me in the house in which you lodge?" for George had never mentioned a word in his letter about taking a house, and had asked Dr. Jeffries if he should see his mother to say nothing to her about his application to him.[Pg 80]
 
"Yes, that's all right, mother," he replied briskly.
 
"And you have got some new clothes since I saw you last, George. You wanted them; yours were getting rather shabby when I saw you at Christmas."
 
"Yes, mother, they were."
 
"I suppose you had to part with your best suit while you were so long out of work?"
 
"That was it, mother; but you see I have been able to get some more things. They are only cheap ones, you know, but they will do very well until I can afford better ones. I am not walking too fast for you, am I? But we shall just catch the train. Or look here, would you mind going straight by yourself to the railway station? Then you can walk slowly. I will go round and get your box. I went into our old place as I came along, and Mrs. Larkins said she would bring it downstairs for me as I came back."
 
"No, I would rather go round with you, George. I want to thank her for having kept it for me so long. Even if we do miss the train it will not matter much, as it will make no difference whether we get in town an hour earlier or later."
 
As George could not explain his special reason for desiring to catch that train he was obliged to agree, and they stopped a quarter of an hour at their old lodging, as Mrs. Larkins insisted upon their having a cup of tea which she had prepared[Pg 81] for them. However, when they reached the station they found that a train was going shortly, and when they reached town they were not so very much later than George had calculated upon.
 
They took a cab, for although Mrs. Andrews' box was not heavy, it was too much for George to carry that distance; besides, Mrs. Andrews herself was tired from her walk to the station from the infirmary, having had no exercise for so long. When they got into the neighborhood of Limehouse George got outside to direct the cabman. It was just a quarter past four when the cab drew up at No. 8 Laburnum Villas.
 
"Why, is this the house?" Mrs. Andrews asked in surprise as George jumped down and opened the door. "Why, you told me in one of your letters it was a house in a row. What a pretty little place! It is really here, George?"
 
"It is here, mother; we moved the other day. There is Bill at the door;" but Bill, having opened the door, ran away out into the garden, and George, having paid the cabman, carried his mother's box in and entered the house with her.
 
"Straight on, mother, into the little room at the end."
 
"What a snug little kitchen!" Mrs. Andrews said as she entered it; "and tea all laid and ready! What, have they lent you the room for this evening?"
 
"My dear mother," George said, throwing his[Pg 82] arms round her neck, "this is your kitchen and your house, all there is of it, only the sitting room isn't furnished yet. We must wait for that, you know."
 
"What! you have taken a whole house, my boy! that is very nice; but can we afford it, George? It seems too good to be true."
 
"It is quite true, mother, and I think it's a dear little house, and will be splendid when we have got it all furnished. Now come up and see the bedrooms. This is Bill's, you know," and he opened the door on the staircase, "and this is mine, and this is yours."
 
"Oh, what a pretty little room!" Mrs. Andrews said: "but, my dear George, the rent of this house and the hire of the furniture will surely be more than we can afford to pay. I know what a good manager you are, my boy, but I have such a horror of getting into debt that it almost frightens me."
 
"The rent of the house is seven and sixpence a week, mother, with rates and taxes, and we can afford that out of Bill's earnings and mine, even if you did not do any work at all; and as to the furniture, it is every bit paid for out of our savings since we went to work."
 
On hearing which Mrs. Andrews threw her arms round George's neck and burst into tears of happiness. She was not very strong, and the thought of the sacrifices these two boys must have made to[Pg 83] get a house together for her completely overpowered her.
 
"It seems impossible, George," she said when she had recovered herself. "Why, you have only been earning ten shillings a week each, and you have had to keep yourselves and get clothes and all sorts of things; it seems impossible."
 
"It has not cost so much as you think, mother, and Bill and I had both learned to live cheap in Covent Garden; but now let us go downstairs; you have not seen Bill yet, and I know tea will be ready."
 
But Bill had not yet come in, and George had to go out into the garden to fetch him.
 
"Come on, Bill; mother is delighted with everything. She won't eat you, you know."
 
"No, she won't eat me, George; but she will think me an out-and-out sort of 'ottentot," which word had turned up in a book the boys had been reading on an evening previously.
 
"Well, wait till she says so; come along."
 
So linking his arm in Bill's, George drew him along, and brought him shamefaced and bashful into the kitchen.
 
"This is Bill, mother."
 
"I am glad to see you, Bill," Mrs. Andrews said, holding out her hand. "I have heard so much of you from George that I seem to know you quite well."
 
Bill put his hand out shyly.[Pg 84]
 
"I am sure we shall get on well together," Mrs. Andrews went on. "I shall never forget that you were a friend to my boy when he was friendless in London."
 
"It's all the t'other way, ma'am," Bill said eagerly; "don't you go for to think it. Why, just look what George has done for me! There was I, a-hanging about the Garden, pretty nigh starving, and sure to get quadded sooner or later; and now here I am living decent, and earning a good wage; and he has taught me to read, ma'am, and to know about things, and aint been ashamed of me, though I am so different to what he is. I tell you, ma'am, there aint no saying what a friend he's been to me, and I aint done nothing for him as I can see."
 
"Well, Bill, you perhaps both owe each other something," Mrs. Andrews said: "and I owe you something as well as my son, for George tells me that it is to your self-denial as well as to his own that I owe this delightful surprise of finding a home ready for me; and now," she went on, seeing how confused and unhappy Bill looked, "I think you two ought to make tea this evening, for you are the hosts, and I am the guest. In future it will be my turn."
 
"All right, mother! you sit down in this armchair; Bill, you do the rashers, and I will pour the water into the pot and then toast the muffins."
 
Bill was at home now; such culinary efforts as they had hitherto attempted had generally fallen to[Pg 85] his share, as he had a greater aptitude for the work than George had, and a dish of bacon fried to a turn was soon upon the table.
 
Mrs. Andrews had been watching Bill closely, and was pleased with the result of her observation. Bill was indeed greatly improved in appearance since he had first made George's acquaintance. His cheeks had filled out, and his face had lost its hardness of outline; the quick, restless, hunted expression of his eyes had nearly died out, and he no longer looked as if constantly on the watch to dodge an expected cuff; his face had always had a large share of that merriment and love of fun which seem the common portion of the London arabs, and seldom desert them under all their hardships; but it was a happier and brighter spirit now, and had altogether lost its reckless character. A similar change is always observable among the waifs picked up off the streets by the London refuges after they have been a few months on board a training ship.
 
When all was ready the party sat down to their meal. Mrs. Andrews undertook the pouring out of the tea, saying that although she was a guest, as the only lady present she should naturally preside. George cut the bread, and Bill served the bacon. The muffins were piled on a plate in the front of the fire as a second course.
 
It was perhaps the happiest meal that any of the three had ever sat down to. Mrs. Andrews was[Pg 86] not only happy at finding so comfortable a home prepared for her, but was filled with a deep feeling of pride and thankfulness at the evidence of the love, steadiness, and self-sacrifice of her son. George was delighted at having his mother with him again, and at seeing her happiness and contentment at the home he had prepared for her. Bill was delighted because George was so, and he was moreover vastly relieved at finding Mrs. Andrews less terrible than he had depicted her.
 
After tea was cleared away they talked together for a while, and then Bill—feeling with instinctive delicacy that George and his mother would like to talk together for a time—said he should take a turn for an hour, and on getting outside the house executed so wild a war-dance of satisfaction that it was fortunate it was dark, or Laburnum Villas would have been astonished and scandalized at the spectacle.
 
"I like your friend Bill very much," Mrs. Andrews said when she was alone with George. "I was sure from what you told me that he must be a good-hearted lad; but brought up as he has been, poor boy, I feared a little that he would scarcely be a desirable companion in point of manners. Of course, as you say, his grammar is a little peculiar; but his manners are wonderfully quiet and nice, considering all."
 
"Look what an example he's had, mother," George laughed; "but really he has taken great[Pg 87] pains ever since he knew that you were coming home. He has been asking me to tell him of anything he does which is not right, especially about eating and that sort of thing. You see he had never used a fork till we came down here, and he made me show him directly how it should be held and what to do with it. It has been quite funny to me to see him watching me at meals, and doing exactly the same."
 
"And you have taught him to read, George?"
 
"Yes, mother."
 
"And something of better things, George?" she asked.
 
"Yes, mother, as much as I could. He didn't know anything when I met him; but he goes to church with me now regularly, and says his prayers every night, and I can tell you he thinks a lot of it. More, I think, than I ever did," he added honestly.
 
"Perhaps he has done you as much good as you have done him, George."
 
"Perhaps he has, mother; yes, I think so. When you see a chap so very earnest for a thing you can't help being earnest yourself; besides, you know, mother," he went on a little shyly, for George had not been accustomed to talk much of these matters with his mother—"you see when one's down in the world and hard up, and not quite sure about the next meal, and without any friend, one seems to think more of these things than one does when one is jolly at school with other fellows."[Pg 88]
 
"Perhaps so, George, though I do not know why it should be so, for the more blessings one has the more reason for love and gratitude to the giver. However, dear, I think we have both reason to be grateful now, have we not?"
 
"That we have, mother. Only think of the difference since we said good-by to each other last summer! Now here you are strong and well again, and we are together and don't mean to be separated, and I have got a place I like and have a good chance of getting on in, and we have got a pretty little house all to ourselves, and you will be able to live a little like a lady again,—I mean as you were accustomed to,—and everything is so nice. Oh, mother, I am sure we have every reason to be grateful!"
 
"We have indeed, George, and I even more than you, in the proofs you have given me that my son is likely to turn out all that even I could wish him."
 
Bill's hour was a very long one.
 
"You must not go out of an evening, Bill, to get out of our way," Mrs. Andrews said when he returned, "else I shall think that I am in your way. It was kind of you to think of it the first evening, and George and I are glad to have had a long talk together, but in future I hope you won't do it. You see there will be lots to do of an evening. There will be your lessons and George's, for I hope now that he's settled he will give up an hour or two every evening to study. Not Latin and Greek,[Pg 89] George," she added, smiling, seeing a look of something like dismay in George's face, "that will be only a waste of time to you now, but a study of such things as may be useful to you in your present work and in your future life, and a steady course of reading really good books by good authors. Then perhaps when you have both done your work, you will take it by turns to read out loud while I do my sewing. Then perhaps some day, who knows, if we get on very flourishingly, after we have furnished our sitting room, we may be able to indulge in the luxury of a piano again and have a little music of an evening."
 
"That will be jolly, mother. Why, it will be really like old times, when you used to sing to me!"
 
Mrs. Andrews' eyes filled with tears at the thought of the old times, but she kept them back bravely, so as not to mar, even for a moment, the happiness of this first evening. So they chatted till nine o'clock, when they had supper. After it was over Mrs. Andrews left the room for a minute and went upstairs and opened her box, and returned with a Bible in her hand.
 
"I think, boys," she said, "we ought to end this first happy evening in our new home by thanking God together for his blessings."
 
"I am sure we ought, mother," George said, and Bill's face expressed his approval.
 
So Mrs. Andrews read a chapter, and then they[Pg 90] knelt and thanked God for his blessings, and the custom thus begun was continued henceforth in No. 8 Laburnum Villas.
 
Hitherto George and his companion had found things much more pleasant at the works than they had expected. They had, of course, had principally to do with Bob Grimstone; still there were many other men in the shop, and at times, when his bench was standing idle while some slight alterations or adjustment of machinery were made, they were set to work with others. Men are quick to see when boys are doing their best, and, finding the lads intent upon their work and given neither to idleness nor skylarking, they seldom had a sharp word addressed to them. But after Mrs. Andrews had come home they found themselves addressed in a warmer and more kindly manner by the men. Bob Grimstone had told two or three of his mates of the sacrifices the boys had made to save up money to make a home for the mother of one of them when she came out of hospital. They were not less impressed than he had been, and the story went the round of the workshops and even came to the ears of the foreman, and there was not a man there but expressed himself in warm terms of surprise and admiration that two lads should for six months have stinted themselves of food in order to lay by half their pay for such a purpose.
 
"There's precious few would have done such a thing," one of the older workmen said, "not one[Pg 91] in a thousand; why, not one chap in a hundred, even when he's going to be married, will stint himself like that to make a home for the gal he is going to make his wife, so as to start housekeeping out of debt; and as to doing it for a mother, where will you find 'em? In course a man ought to do as much for his mother as for the gal who is agoing to be his wife, seeing how much he owes her; but how many does it, that's what I says, how many does it?"
 
So after that the boys were surprised to find how many of the men, when they met them at the gate, would give them a kindly nod or a hearty, "Good-morning, young chaps!"
 
A day or two after Mrs. Andrews had settled in Laburnum Villas she went up to town and called upon a number of shops, asking for work. As she was able to give an excellent reference to the firm for whom she had worked at Croydon she succeeded before the end of the week in obtaining millinery work for a firm in St. Paul's Churchyard, and as she had excellent taste and was very quick at her needle she was soon able to earn considerably more than she had done at Croydon.
 
The three were equally determined that they would live as closely as possible until the sitting-rooms were furnished, and by strict management they kept within the boys' pay, Mrs. Andrews' earnings being devoted to the grand purpose. The small articles were bought first, and each week[Pg 92] there was great congratulation and pleasure as some new article was placed in the rooms. Then there was a pause for some time, then came the chairs, then after an interval a table, and lastly the carpet. This crowning glory was not attained until the end of July. After this they moved solemnly into the sitting-room, agreeing that the looking-glass, chiffonier, and sofa could be added at a more gradual rate, and that the whole of Mrs. Andrews' earnings need no longer be devoted.
 
"Now, boys," Mrs. Andrews said on that memorable evening, "I want you in future, when you come in, to change your working clothes before you come in here to your teas. So long as we lived in the kitchen I have let things go on, but I think there's something in the old saying, 'Company clothes, company manners,' and I think it is good when boys come in that they should lay aside their heavy-nailed shoes and their working clothes. Certainly such boots and clothes are apt to render people clumsy in their movements, and the difference of walk which you observe between men of different classes arises very greatly from the clumsy, heavy boots which workingmen must wear."
 
"But what does it matter, mother?" George urged, for it seemed to him that it would be rather a trouble to change his clothes every day. "These little things don't make any real difference to a man."
 
"Not any vital difference, George, but a real[Pg 93] difference for all that. Manners make the man, you know! that is, they influence strangers and people who only know him in connection with business. If two men apply together for a place the chances are strongly in favor of the man with the best manners getting it. Besides, my boy, I think the observance of little courtesies of this kind make home pleasanter and brighter. You see I always change my dress before tea, and I am sure you prefer my sitting down to the table tidy and neat with a fresh collar and cuffs, to my taking my place in my working dress with odds and ends of threads and litter clinging to it."
 
"Of course I do, mother, and I see what you mean now. Certainly I will change my things in future. You don't mind, do you, Bill?"
 
Bill would not have minded in the least any amount of trouble by which he could give the slightest satisfaction to Mrs. Andrews, who had now a place in his affections closely approximating to that which George occupied.
 
During the summer months the programme for the evening was not carried out as arranged, for at the end of April Mrs. Andrews herself declared that there must be a change.
 
"The evenings are getting light enough now for a walk after tea, boys, and you must therefore cut short our reading and studies till the days close in again in the autumn. It would do you good to get out in the air a bit."[Pg 94]
 
"But will you come with us, mother?"
 
"No, George. Sometimes as evenings get longer we may make little excursions together: go across the river to Greenwich and spend two or three hours in the park, or take a steamer and go up the river to Kew; but as a general thing you had better take your rambles together. I have my front garden to look after, the vegetables are your work, you know, and if I like I can go out and do whatever shopping I have to do while you two are away."
 
So the boys took to going out walks, which got longer and longer as the evenings drew out, and when they were not disposed for a long ramble they would go down to a disused wharf and sit there and watch the barges drifting down the river or tacking backwards and forwards, if there was a wind, with their great brown and yellow sails hauled tautly in, and the great steamers dropping quietly down the river, and the little busy tugs dragging great ships after them. There was an endless source of amusement in wondering from what ports the various craft had come or what was their destination.
 
"What seems most wonderful to me, George," Bill said one day, "when one looks at them big steamers——"
 
"Those," George corrected.
 
"Thank ye—at those big steamers, is to think that they can be tossed about, and the sea go over[Pg 95] them, as one reads about, just the same way as the wave they make when they goes down——"
 
"Go down, Bill."
 
"Thank ye—go down the river, tosses the little boats about; it don't seem possible that water can toss itself about so high as that, does it?"
 
"It does seem extraordinary, Bill; we know that it is so because there are constantly wrecks; but looking at the water it does not seem possible that it should rise up into waves large enough to knock one of those great steamers in pieces. Some day, Bill, not this year, of course, because the house isn't finished, but next year, I hope we shall be able all of us to go down for a trip to the sea. I have seen it stuck up you can go to Margate and back for three or four shillings; and though Bob Grimstone says that isn't regular sea, it would be enough to show us something of what it's like."
 
The garden occupied a good deal of the boys' time. Bill's long experience in the market had given him an interest in vegetables, and he was always ready for an hour's work in the garden after tea. The results of much labor and plenty of manure were not unsatisfactory, and Mrs. Andrews was delighted with her regular supply of fresh vegetables. Bill's anticipation, however, of the amount that could be grown in a limited space were by no means fulfilled, and seeing the small amount which could be daily gathered, and recalling the countless piled-up wagons which he had been accustomed to[Pg 96] see in Covent Garden, he was continually expressing his astonishment at the enormous quantity of ground which must be employed in keeping up the supply of the market.
 
They did not that year get the trip to Margate; but in the autumn, after the great work of furnishing was finished, they did get several long jaunts, once out to Epping Forest on an omnibus, once in a steamer up to Kew, and several times across to Greenwich Park. Mrs. Andrews found it a very happy summer, free from the wear of anxiety, which, more even than the work, had brought on her long illness. She grew stronger and better than she had ever expected to be again, and those who had only known the pale, harassed-looking needlewoman of Croydon would not have recognized her now; indeed, as George said sometimes, his mother looked younger and younger every day. She had married very young, and was still scarcely five-and-thirty, and although she laughed and said that George was a foolish boy when he said that people always took her for his sister, she really looked some years younger than she was. Her step had regained its elasticity, and there was a ring of gladness and happiness in her voice which was very attractive, and even strangers sometimes looked round as they passed the bright, pleasant-looking woman chatting gayly with the two healthy, good-looking young fellows.