"Thank you, sir," Mrs. Andrews said, "for the kindness of your intention; but my boys – for although one is in no way related to me I feel towards him as if he were my own – would not like to take money for doing their duty towards their employer."

"No, indeed!" George and Bill exclaimed simultaneously.

"As you see, sir, thanks to the work you were good enough to give the boys and to my needle," – and she glanced towards the articles on the table, – "we are very comfortable; but I am sure the boys will be very glad to accept the things which your daughter has been so kind as to bring down for them, and will feel very much obliged for her thoughtfulness."

"That is right," Mr. Penrose said, relieved. "Nelly, you may as well leave the basket as it is. I am sure you don't want to carry it back again?"

"No, papa," Nelly said; and indeed even the empty basket would have been more than the child could well have carried. It had come on the top of the carriage to the railway-station, and a porter had accompanied Mr. Penrose with it to Laburnum Villas.

"You would have hardly known your young friend. Would you, Nelly?"

"I don't think I should," she said, shaking her head. "He looks dreadfully burned, and his hair is all funny and frizzled."

"It will soon grow again," George said, smiling. "The doctor says our faces will be all right when the skin is peeled off. Thank you very much, Miss Penrose, for all the nice things. It was a fortunate day indeed for us when I caught that boy stealing your locket."

"And it was a fortunate day for us too," Mr. Penrose responded. "Now, Mrs. Andrews, we will say good-by. You will not mind my calling again to see how the boys are getting on?"

"It will be very kind of you, sir, and we shall be glad to see you," Mrs. Andrews replied; "but I hope in a few days they will both be out of the doctor's hands."

"I can't shake hands with you," Mr. Penrose said, patting the boys on the shoulder, "but I hope next time I see you to be able to do so. Good-morning, Mrs. Andrews."

CHAPTER VII.
SAVED!

"Now let us have a look at the basket, mother," George said as Mrs. Andrews returned into the room after seeing her two visitors off. "It's very kind of him, isn't it? and I am glad he didn't offer us money; that would have been horrid, wouldn't it?"

"I am glad he did not, too, George. Mr. Penrose is evidently a gentleman of delicacy and refinement of feeling, and he saw that he would give pain if he did so."

"You see it too, don't you, Bill?" George asked. "You know you thought I was a fool not to take money when he offered it for getting back the locket; but you see it in the same way now, don't you?"

"Yes; I shouldn't have liked to take money," Bill said. "I sees – "

"See," Mrs. Andrews corrected.

"Thank you. I see things different – differently," he corrected himself, seeing that George was about to speak, "to what I did then."

"Now, mother," George said, "let us open the basket; it's almost as big as a clothes-basket, isn't it?"

The cover was lifted and the contents, which had after much thought been settled by Nelly herself, were disclosed. There were two bottles of port-wine, a large mold of jelly, a great cake, two dozen oranges, some apples, a box of preserved fruit, some almonds and raisins, two packets of Everton toffee, a dozen mince-pies, and four pots of black-currant jelly, on the cover of one of which was written in a sprawling hand, "Two teaspoonfuls stirred up in a tumbler of water for a drink at night."

"This will make a grand feast, mother; what a jolly collection, isn't it? I think Miss Penrose must have chosen it herself, don't you?"

"It certainly looks like it, George," Mrs. Andrews replied, smiling. "I do not think any grownup person would have chosen mince-pies and toffee as appropriate for sick boys."

"Yes; but she must have known we were not badly burned, mother; and besides, you see, she put in currant-jelly to make drinks, and there are the oranges too. I vote that we have an orange and some toffee at once, Bill."

"I have tasted oranges," Bill said, "lots of them in the market, but I never tasted toffee."

"It's first-rate, I can tell you."

"Why, they look like bits of tin," Bill said as the packet was opened.

George burst into a laugh.

"That's tin-foil, that's only to wrap it up; you peel that off, Bill, and you will find the toffee inside. Now, mother, you have a glass of wine and a piece of cake."

"I will have a piece of cake, George; but I am not going to open the wine. We will put that by in case of illness or of any very extraordinary occasion."

"I am glad the other things won't keep, mother, or I expect you would be wanting to put them all away. Isn't this toffee good, Bill?"

"First-rate," Bill agreed. "What is it made of?"

"Sugar and butter melted together over the fire."

"You are like two children," Mrs. Andrews laughed, "instead of boys getting on for sixteen years old. Now I must clear this table again and get to work; I promised these four bonnets should be sent in to-morrow morning, and there's lots to be done to them yet."

It was three weeks before the boys were able to go to work again. The foreman came round on Saturdays with their wages. Mr. Penrose called again; this time they were out, but he chatted for some time with Mrs. Andrews.

"I don't wish to pry into your affairs, Mrs. Andrews," he said, after asking about the boys; "but I have a motive for asking if your son has, as I suppose he has, from his way of speaking, had a fair education."

"He was at school up to the age of twelve," Mrs. Andrews said quietly; "circumstances at that time obliged me to remove him; but I have since done what I could myself towards continuing his education, and he still works regularly of an evening."

"Why I ask, Mrs. Andrews, was that I should like in time to place him in the counting-house. I say in time, because I think it will be better for him for the next two or three years to continue to work in the shops. I will have him moved from shop to shop so as to learn thoroughly the various branches of the business. That is what I should do had I a son of my own to bring into the business. It will make him more valuable afterwards, and fit him to take a good position either in my shops or in any similar business should an opening occur."

"I am greatly obliged to you, sir," Mrs. Andrews said gratefully; "though I say it myself, a better boy never lived."

"I am sure he is by what I have heard of him, and I shall be only too glad, after the service he has rendered me, to do everything in my power to push him forward. His friend, I hear, has not had the same advantages. At the time I first saw him he looked a regular young arab."

"So he was, sir; but he is a fine young fellow. He was very kind to my boy when he was alone in London, and gave up his former life to be with him. George taught him to read before I came here, and he has worked hard ever since. No one could be nicer in the house than he is, and had I been his own mother he could not be more dutiful or anxious to please. Indeed I may say that I am indebted for my home here as much to him as to my own boy."

"I am glad to hear you say so, Mrs. Andrews, for of course I should wish to do something for him too. At any rate, I will give him, like your son, every opportunity of learning the business, and he will in time be fit for a position of foreman of a shop – by no means a bad one for a lad who has had such a beginning as he has had. After that, of course, it must depend upon himself. I think, if you will allow me to suggest, it would be as well that you should not tell them the nature of our conversation. Of course it is for you to decide; but, however steady boys they are, it might make them a little less able to get on well with their associates in a shop if they know that they are going to be advanced."

"I don't think it would make any difference to them, sir; but at the same time I do think it would be as well not to tell them."

One day Bill was out by himself as the men were coming out of the shop, and he stopped to speak to Bob Grimstone.

"Oh! I am glad to find you without George," Bob said; "'cause I want to talk to you. Look here! the men in all the shops have made a subscription to give you and George a present. Everyone feels that it's your doing that we have not got to idle all this winter, and when someone started the idea there wasn't a man in the two shops that didn't agree with him. I am the treasurer, I am, and it's come to just thirty pounds. Now I don't know what you two boys would like, whether you would like it in money, or whether you would like it in something else, so I thought I would ask you first. I thought you would know what George would like, seeing what friends you are, and then you know it would come as a surprise to him. Now, what do you say?"

"Its very kind of you," Bill said. "I am sure George would like anything better than money, and so should I."

"Well, you think it over, Bill, and let me know in a day or two. We were thinking of a watch for each of you, with an inscription, saying it was presented to you by your shopmates for having saved the factory, and so kept them at work for months just at the beginning of winter. That's what seemed to me that you would like; but if there is anything you would like better, just you say so. You come down here to-morrow or next day, when you have thought it over, and give me an answer. Of course you can consult George if you think best."

Bill met Bob Grimstone on the following day.

"I have thought it over," he said, "and I know what George and me would like better than any possible thing you could get."

"Well, what is it, Bill?"

"Well, what we have set our minds on, and what we were going to save up our money to get, was a piano for George's mother. I heard her say that we could get a very nice one for about thirty pounds, and it would be splendid if you were all to give it her."

"Very well, Bill, then a piano it shall be. I know a chap as works at Kirkman's, and I expect he will be able to give us a good one for the money."

Accordingly on the Saturday afternoon before the boys were going to work again, Mrs. Andrews and George were astonished at seeing a cart stop before the house, and the foreman, Bob Grimstone, and four other men coming up to the door.

Bill ran and opened the door, and the men entered. He had been apprised of the time that they might be expected, and at once showed them in.

"Mrs. Andrews," the foreman said, "I and my mates here are a deputation from the hands employed in the shop, and we have come to offer you a little sort of testimonial of what we feel we owe your son and Bill Smith for putting out the fire and saving the shops. If it hadn't been for them it would have been a bad winter for us all. So after thinking it over and finding out what form of testimonial the lads would like best, we have got you a piano, which we hope you may live long to play on and enjoy. We had proposed to give them a watch each; but we found that they would rather that it took the form of a piano."

"Oh, how good and kind of you all!" Mrs. Andrews said, much affected. "I shall indeed be proud of your gift, both for itself and for the kind feeling towards my boys which it expresses."

"Then, ma'am, with your permission we will just bring it in;" and the deputation retired to assist with the piano.

"Oh, boys, how could you do it without telling me!" Mrs. Andrews exclaimed.

George had hitherto stood speechless with surprise.

"But I didn't know anything about it, mother. I don't know what they mean by saying that we would rather have it than watches. Of course we would, a hundred times; but I don't know how they knew it."

"Then it must have been your kind thought, Bill."

"It wasn't no kind thought, Mrs. Andrews, but they spoke to me about it, and I knew that a piano was what we should like better than anything else, and I didn't say anything about it, because Bob Grimstone thought that it would be nicer to be a surprise to George as well as to you."

"You are right, old boy," George said, shaking Bill by the hand; "why, there never was such a good idea; it is splendid, mother, isn't it?"

The men now appeared at the door with the piano. This was at once placed in the position which had long ago been decided upon as the best place for the piano when it should come. Mrs. Andrews opened it, and there on the front was a silver plate with the inscription:

"To Mrs. Andrews from the Employees at Messrs. Penrose & Co., in token of their gratitude to George Andrews and William Smith for their courage and presence of mind, by which the factory was saved from being destroyed by fire on Saturday the 23d of October, 1857."

The tears which stood in Mrs. Andrews' eyes rendered it difficult for her to read the inscription.

"I thank you, indeed," she said. "Now, perhaps you would like to hear its tones." So saying she sat down and played "Home, Sweet Home." "It has a charming touch," she said as she rose, "and, you see, the air was an appropriate one, for your gift will serve to make home even sweeter than before. Give, please, my grateful thanks, and those of my boys, to all who have subscribed."

The inhabitants of No. 8 Laburnum Villas had long been a subject of considerable discussion and interest to their neighbors, for the appearance of the boys as they came home of an evening in their working clothes seemed altogether incongruous with that of their mother and with the neatness and prettiness of the villa, and was, indeed, considered derogatory to the respectability of Laburnum Villas in general. Upon this evening they were still further mystified at hearing the notes of a female voice of great power and sweetness, accompanied by a piano, played evidently by an accomplished musician, issuing from the house. As to the boys, they thought that, next only to that of the home-coming of Mrs. Andrews, never was such a happy evening spent in the world.

I do not think that in all London there was a household that enjoyed that winter more than did the inmates of No. 8 Laburnum Villas. Their total earnings were about thirty-five shillings a week, much less than that of many a mechanic, but ample for them not only to live, but to live in comfort and even refinement. No stranger, who had looked into the pretty drawing room in the evening, would have dreamed that the lady at the piano worked as a milliner for her living, or that the lads were boys in a manufactory.

When spring came they began to plan various trips and excursions which could be taken on bank holidays or during the long summer evenings, when an event happened which, for a time, cut short all their plans. The word had been passed round the shops the first thing in the morning that Mr. Penrose was coming down with a party of ladies and gentlemen to go over the works, and that things were to be made as tidy as possible.

Accordingly there was a general clearing up, and vast quantities of shavings and sawdust were swept up from the floors, although when the machines had run again for a few hours no one would have thought that a broom had been seen in the place for weeks.

George was now in a shop where a number of machines were at work grooving, mortising, and performing other work to prepare the wood for builders' purposes. The party arrived just as work had recommenced after dinner.

There were ten or twelve gentlemen and as many ladies. Nelly Penrose, with two girls about her own age, accompanied the party. They stopped for a time in each shop while Mr. Penrose explained the nature of the work and the various points of the machinery.

They had passed through most of the other rooms before they entered that in which George was engaged, and the young girls, taking but little interest in the details of the machinery, wandered somewhat away from the rest of the party, chatting among themselves. George had his eye upon them, and was wishing that Mr. Penrose would turn round and speak to them, for they were moving about carelessly and not paying sufficient heed to the machinery.

Suddenly he threw down his work and darted forward with a shout; but he was too late, a revolving-band had caught Nelly Penrose's dress. In an instant she was dragged forward and in another moment would have been whirled into the middle of the machinery.

There was a violent scream, followed by a sudden crash and a harsh grating sound, and then the whole of the machinery on that side of the room came to a standstill. For a moment no one knew what had happened. Mr. Penrose and some of his friends rushed forward to raise Nelly. Her hand was held fast between the band and the pulley, and the band had to be cut to relieve it.

"What an escape! what an escape!" Mr. Penrose murmured, as he lifted her. "Another second and nothing could have saved her. But what stopped the machinery?" and for the first time he looked round the shop. There was a little group of men a few yards away, and, having handed Nelly, who was crying bitterly, for her hand was much bruised, to one of the ladies, he stepped towards them. The foreman came forward to meet him.

"I think, sir, you had better get the ladies out of the shop. I am afraid young Andrews is badly hurt."

"How is it? What is the matter?" Mr. Penrose asked.

"I think, sir, he saw the danger your daughter was in, and shoved his foot in between two of the cog-wheels."

"You don't say so!" Mr. Penrose exclaimed, as he pushed forward among the men.

Two of them were supporting George Andrews, who, as pale as death, lay in their arms. One of his feet was jammed in between two of the cog-wheels. He was scarcely conscious.

"Good Heavens," Mr. Penrose exclaimed in a low tone, "his foot must be completely crushed! Have you thrown off the driving belt, Williams?"

"Yes, sir, I did that first thing."

"That's right; now work away for your lives, lads." This was said to two men who had already seized spanners and were unscrewing the bolts of the bearings in order to enable the upper shafting to be lifted and the cog-wheel removed. Then Mr. Penrose returned to his friends.

"Pray leave the shop," he said, "and go down into the office. There's been a bad accident; a noble young fellow has sacrificed himself to save Nelly's life, and is, I fear, terribly hurt. Williams, send off a man instantly for the surgeon. Let him jump into one of the cabs he will find waiting at the gate, and tell the man to drive as hard as he can go. If Dr. Maxwell is not at home let him fetch someone else."

George had indeed sacrificed himself to save Nelly Penrose. When he saw the band catch her dress he had looked round for an instant for something with which to stop the machinery, but there was nothing at hand, and without an instant's hesitation he had thrust his foot between the cog-wheels. He had on very heavy, thickly nailed working boots, and the iron-bound sole threw the cogs out of gear and bent the shaft, thereby stopping the machinery. George felt a dull, sickening pain, which seemed to numb and paralyze him all over, and he remembered little more until, on the shafting being removed, his foot was extricated and he was laid gently down on a heap of shavings. The first thing he realized when he was conscious was that someone was pouring some liquid, which half-choked him, down his throat.

When he opened his eyes, Mr. Penrose, kneeling beside him, was supporting his head, while on the other side knelt Bill Smith, the tears streaming down his cheeks and struggling to suppress his sobs.

"What is it, Bill? What's the matter?" Then the remembrance of what had passed flashed upon him.

"Is she safe; was I in time?"

"Quite safe, my dear boy. Thank God, your noble sacrifice was not in vain," Mr. Penrose answered with quivering lips, for he too had the greatest difficulty in restraining his emotion.

"Am I badly hurt, sir?" George asked after a pause, "because, if so, will you please send home for mother? I don't feel in any pain, but I feel strange and weak."

"It is your foot, my boy. I fear that it is badly crushed, but otherwise you are unhurt. Your boot threw the machinery out of gear."

In ten minutes the doctor arrived. He had already been informed of the nature of the accident.

"Is it any use trying to cut the boot off?" Mr. Penrose asked in a low voice as Dr. Maxwell stooped over George's leg.

"Not the slightest," the doctor answered in the same tone. "The foot is crushed to a pulp. It must come off at the ankle. Nothing can save it. He had better be taken home at once. You had best send to Guy's and get an operating surgeon for him. I would rather it were done by someone whose hand is more used than mine to this sort of work."

"I am a governor of Guy's," Mr. Penrose said, "and will send off at once for one of their best men. You are not afraid of the case, I hope, Dr. Maxwell?"

"Not of the local injury," Dr. Maxwell replied; "but the shock to the system of such a smash is very severe. However, he has youth, strength, and a good constitution, so we must hope for the best. The chances are all in his favor. We are thinking of taking you home, my boy," he went on, speaking aloud to George. "Are you in any great pain?"

"I am not in any pain, sir; only I feel awfully cold, and, please, will someone go on before and tell mother. Bill had better not go; he would frighten her to death and make her think it was much worse than it is."

"I will go myself," Mr. Penrose replied. "I will prepare her for your coming."

"Drink some more of this brandy," the doctor said; "that will warm you and give you strength for your journey."

There was a stretcher always kept at the works in case of emergency, and George was placed on this and covered with some rugs. Four of the men raised it onto their shoulders and set out, Mr. Penrose at once driving on to prepare Mrs. Andrews.

Bill followed the procession heart-broken. When it neared home he fell behind and wandered away, not being able to bring himself to witness the grief of Mrs. Andrews. For hours he wandered about, sitting down in waste places and crying as if his heart would break. "If it had been me it wouldn't have mattered," he kept on exclaiming – "wouldn't have mattered a bit. It wouldn't have been no odds one way or the other. There, we have always been together in the shops till this week, and now when we get separated this is what comes of it. Here am I, walking about all right, and George all crushed up, and his mother breaking her heart. Why, I would rather a hundred times that they had smashed me up all over than have gone and hurt George like that!"

It was dark before he made his way back, and, entering at the back door, took off his boots, and was about to creep upstairs when Mrs. Andrews came out of the kitchen.

"Oh, Mrs. Andrews!" he exclaimed, and the tears again burst from him.

"Do not cry, Bill; George is in God's hands, and the doctors have every hope that he will recover. They are upstairs with him now, with a nurse whom Mr. Penrose has fetched down from the hospital. He will have to lose his foot, poor boy," she added with a sob that she could not repress, "but we should feel very thankful that it is no worse after such an accident as that. The doctor says that his thick boots saved him. If it hadn't been for that his whole leg would have been drawn into the machinery, and then nothing could have saved him. Now I must go upstairs, as I only came down for some hot water."

"May I go up to him, Mrs. Andrews?"

"I think, my boy, you had better stop down here for the present for both your sakes. I will let you know when you can go up to him."

So Bill crouched before the fire and waited. He heard movements upstairs and wondered what they were doing and why they didn't keep quiet, and when he would be allowed to go up. Once or twice the nurse came down for hot water, but Bill did not speak to her; but in half an hour Mrs. Andrews herself returned, looking, Bill thought, even paler than before.

"I have just slipped down to tell you, my boy, that it's all over. They gave him chloroform, and have taken his foot off."

"And didn't it hurt it awful?" Bill asked in an awed voice.

"Not in the least. He knew nothing about it, and the first thing he asked when he came to was when they were going to begin. They will be going away directly, and then you can come up and sit quietly in his room if you like. The doctors say he will probably drop asleep."

Bill was obliged to go outside again and wrestle with himself before he felt that he was fit to go up into George's room. It was a long struggle, and had George caught his muttered remonstrances to himself he would have felt that Bill had suffered a bad relapse into his former method of talking. It came out in jerks between his sobs.

"Come, none of that now. Aint yer ashamed of yerself, a-howling and a-blubbering like a gal! Call yerself a man! – you are a babby, that's what you are. Now, dry up, and let's have no more of it."

But it was a long time before he again mastered himself; then he went to the scullery and held his head under the tap till the water took away his breath, then polished his face till it shone, and then went and sat quietly down till Mrs. Andrews came in and told him that he could go upstairs to George. He went up to the bedside and took George's hand, but he could not trust himself to speak.

"Well, Bill, old boy," George said cheerily, but in a somewhat lower voice than usual, "this is a sudden go, isn't it?"

Bill nodded. He was still speechless.

"Don't you take it to heart, Bill," George said, feeling that the lad was shaking from head to foot. "It won't make much odds, you know. I shall soon be about again all right. I expect they will be able to put on an artificial foot, and I shall be stumping about as well as ever, though I shouldn't be much good at a race."

"I wish it had been me," Bill broke out. "I would have jammed my head in between them wheels cheerful, that I would, rather than you should have gone and done it."

"Fortunately there was no time," George said with a smile. "Don't you fret yourself, Bill; one can get on well enough without a foot, and it didn't hurt me a bit coming off. No, nor the squeeze either, not regular hurting; it was just a sort of scrunch, and then I didn't feel anything more. Why, I have often hurt myself ten times as much at play and thought nothing of it. I expect it looked much worse to you than it felt to me."

"We will talk of it another time," Bill said huskily. "Your mother said I wasn't to talk, and I wasn't to let you talk, but just to sit down here quiet, and you are to try to go off to sleep." So saying he sat down by the bedside. George asked one or two more questions, but Bill only shook his head. Presently George closed his eyes, and a short time afterwards his quiet regular breathing showed that he was asleep.

The next six weeks passed pleasantly enough to George. Every day hampers containing flowers and various niceties in the way of food were sent down by Mr. Penrose, and that gentleman himself very frequently called in for a chat with him. As soon as the wound had healed an instrument-maker came down from town to measure him for an artificial foot, but before he was able to wear this he could get about on crutches.

The first day that he was downstairs Mr. Penrose brought Nelly down to see him. The child looked pale and awed as he came in.

"My little girl has asked me to thank you for her, George," Mr. Penrose said as she advanced timidly and placed her hand in his. "I have not said much to you about my own feelings and I won't say much about hers; but you can understand what we both feel. Why, my boy, it was a good Providence, indeed, which threw you in my way! I thought so when you saved the mill from destruction. I feel it tenfold more now that you have saved my child. The ways of God are, indeed, strange. Who would have thought that all this could have sprung from that boy snatching the locket from Helen as we came out of the theater! And now about the future, George. I owe you a great debt, infinitely greater than I can ever repay; but what I can do I will. In the future I shall regard you as my son, and I hope that you will look to me as to a father. I have been talking to your mother, and she says that she thinks your tastes lie altogether in the direction of engineering. Is that so?"

"Yes, sir. I have often thought I would rather be an engineer than anything else, but I don't like – "

"Never mind what you like and what you don't like," Mr. Penrose said quietly. "You belong to me now, you know and must do as you are told. What I propose is this, that you shall go to a good school for another three years, and I will then apprentice you to a first-class engineer, either mechanical or civil as you may then prefer, and when you have learned your business I will take good care that you are pushed on. What do you say to that?"

"I think it is too much altogether," George said.

"Never mind about that," Mr. Penrose said, "that is my business. If that is the only objection we can imagine it settled. There is another thing. I know how attached you are to your friend Bill, and I am indebted to him, too, for the part he played at the fire, so I propose, if he is willing, to put him to a good middle-class school for a bit. In the course of a couple of years he will get a sufficient education to get on fairly with, and then I propose, according as you may choose to be a civil or mechanical engineer, to place him with a mason or smith; then by the time that you are ready to start in business he will be ready to take a place under you, so that you may again work together."

"Oh, thank you, sir!" George exclaimed, even more pleased at the news relating to Bill than at his own good fortune, great as was the delight which the prospect opened by Mr. Penrose's offer caused him.

As soon as George could be moved, Mr. Penrose sent him with his mother and Bill down to the seaside. Here George rapidly regained strength, and when, after a stay there of two months, he returned to town, he was able to walk so well with his artificial foot that his loss would not have been noticed by a stranger.