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Sammy was a sad little rascal, and would throw apple-skins on the entry floor, and lay round pebbles on the lowest stair, hoping to trip the old man up as he came in or went out, and Mr. Bond caught him at it, so that he was always careful afterward to keep an eye to his feet. But the boy stood in his own light, for there were no favors for him after that. Mr.
Flin has got into her new home, and there is quite a rejoicing among her tenants. There is no fear now from Master Sammy's apple-skins and pebbles, and the landlady's bombazine dress has done sweeping its ample folds across Mrs. Bates' floor. You don't catch Mrs. Flin in that vile street any more!
I calk'late to do my duty, and do it hearty: but it is rough on a feller leavin' his folks, for good, maybe." There was a sudden huskiness in the man's voice that was not apple-skins, though he tried to make believe that it was. I knew a word about home would comfort him, so I went on with my questions. "It is very hard. Do you leave a family?" "My old mother, a sick brother, and Lucindy."
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