So it may be that the crippled crossing-sweeper outside Winsleigh House
is a very great deal happier than the master of that stately mansion. He
has a new broom,--and Master Ernest Winsleigh has given him two oranges,
and a rather bulky stick of sugar candy. He is a _protege_ of
Ernest's--that bright handsome boy considers it a "jolly shame"--to have
only one leg,--and has said so with much emphasis,--and though the
little sweeper himself has never regarded his affliction quite in that
light, he is exceedingly grateful for the young gentleman's patronage
and sympathy thus frankly expressed. And on this particular night of the
grand reception he stands, leaning on his broom and munching his candy,
a delighted spectator of the scene in Park Lane,--the splendid
equipages, the prancing horses, the glittering liveries, the excited
cabmen, the magnificent toilettes of the ladies, the solemn and resigned
deportment of the gentlemen,--and he envies none of them--not he! Why
should he? His oranges are in his pocket--untouched as yet--and it is
doubtful whether the crowding guests at the Winsleigh supper-table shall
find anything there to yield them such entire enjoyment as he will
presently take in his humble yet refreshing desert.
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