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RAGGED DICK SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 6 vols. 12mo. Cloth. 
Ragged Dick. Rough and Ready. 

Fame and Fortune. Ben the Luggage Boy. 

Mark the Match Boy. Rufus and Rose. 

TATTERED TOM SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4 vols. 12mo. 
Cloth. First Series. 
Tattered Tom. Phil the Fiddler. 

Paul the Peddler. Slow and Sure. 

TATTERED TOM SERIES. 4 vols. 12mo. Cloth. Second Series. 
Julius. Sam's Chance. 

The Young Outlaw. The Telegraph Boy. 

CAMPAIGN SERIES. By Hobatio Alger, Jr. 3 vols. 

Frank's Campaign. Charlie Codman's Cruise. 

Paul Prescott's Charge. 

LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4 vols. 12mo. 
Cloth. First Series. 
Luck and Pluck. Strong and Steady. 

Sink or Swim. Strive and Succeed. 

LUCKANDPLUCKSERIES. 4 vols. 12mo. Cloth. Second Series. 
Try and Trust. Risen from the Ranks. 

Bound to Rise. Herbert Carter's Legacy. 

BRAVE AND BOLD SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4 vols. 12mo. 
Brave and Bold. Shifting for Himself. 

Jack's Ward. Wait and Hope. 

PACIFIC SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4 vols. 12mo. 
The Young Adventurer. The Young Explorers. 

The Young Miner. Ben's Nugget. 

ATLANTIC SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4 vols. 

The Young Circus Rider. Hector's Inheritance. 

Do and Dare. Helping Himself. 

WAY TO SUCCESS SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4vols. 12mo. 
Bob Burton. Luke Walton. 

The Store Boy. Struggling Upward. 

NEW WORLD SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth. 
Digging for Gold. Facing the World. In a New World. 

Other Volumes in Preparation. 

Copyright by A. K. Lorinq, 1869. 

Copyright, 1897, by Horatio Alger, Jr. 






"Mark, the Match Boy," is the third volume 
of the " Ragged Dick Series," and, like its prede 
cessors, aims to describe a special phase of street 
life in New York. While it is complete in itself, 
several characters are introduced who have figured 
conspicuously in the preceding volumes ; and the 
curiosity as to their future history, which has been 
expressed by man}' young readers, will be found to 
be gratified in the present volume. 

The author has observed with pleasure the in 
creased public attention which has been drawn to 
the condition of these little waifs of city life, by 
articles in our leading magazines, and in other ways ; 
and hopes that the result will be to strengthen and 
assist the philanthropic efforts which are making to 
■escue them from their vagabond condition, and 



train them up to be useful members Df society. That 
his own efforts have been received with so large a 
measure of public favor, not limited to the young 
readers for whom the series is especially written, the 
author desires to express b ; s» grateful thanks. 

New York, April, 1869. 





"Fosdick," said Richard Hunter, " what was 
the name of that man who owed your father two 
thousand dollars, which he never paid him?" 

" Hiram Bates," answered Fosdick, in some sur- 
prise. " What made you think of him ? " 

" I thought I remembered the name. He 
moved out West, didn't he? " 

" So I heard at the time." 

"Do you happen to remember where? Out 
West is a very large place." 

"I do not know exactly, but I think it was Mil- 

"Indeed ! " exclaimed Richard Hunter, in visible 



excitement. "Well. Fosdick, why don't you try to 
get the debt paid ? ' ' 

" Of what use would it be ? How do I know he 
is living in Milkaukie now ? If I should write hin 
a letter, there isn't much chance of my ever getting 
an answer." 

" Call and see him." 

" What, go out to Milwaukie on such a wild-goose 
chase as that ? I can't think what you are driving 
at, Dick." 

" Then I'll tell you, Fosdick. Hiram Bates is 
now in New York." 

"How do you know?" asked Fosdick, with an 
expression of mingled amazement and incredulity. 

" I'll show you." 

Richard Hunter pointed to the list of hotel arriv- 
als in the " Evening Express," which he held in his 
hand. Among the arrivals at the Astor House 
occurred the name of Hiram Bates, from Mil- 

"If I am not mistaken," he said, "that is the 
name of your father's debtor." 

" I don't know but you are right," said Fosdick, 


" He must be prosperous if he stops at a high- 
pficed hotel like the Astor." 

" Yes, I suppose so. How much good that 
money would have done my poor father/' he added, 
with a sigh. 

" How much good it will do you, Fosdick." 

Fosdick shook his head. " I would sell out my 
chance of getting it for ten dollars," he said. 

" I would buy it at that price if I wanted to make 
money out of you ; but I don't. I advise you to 
attend to this matter at once." 

" What can I do? " asked Fosdick, who seemed 
at a loss to understand his companion's meaning. 

"There is only one thing to do," said Dick, 
promptly. " Call on Mr. Bates this evening at the 
hotel. Tell him who you are, and hint that you 
should like the money." 

" I haven't got your confidence, Dick. I shouldn't 
know how to go about it. Do you really think it 
would do any good ? He might think I was imper- 

" Impertinent to ask payment of a just debt ! I 
don't see it in that light. I think I shall have to go 
yith you." 


" 1 wish you would, — that is, if you leally think 
there is any use in going." 

"You mustn't be so bashful if you want to get 
on in the world, Fosdick. As long as there's a 
chance of getting even a part of it, I advise you to 
make the attempt." 

" Well, Dick, I'll be guided by your advice." 

" Two thousand dollars would be a pretty good 
windfall for you." 

" That's true enough, considering that I only get 
eight dollars a week." 

" I wish you got more." 

v * So do I, for one particular reason." 

"What is that?" 

" I don't feel satisfied to have you pay ten dol- 
lars a week towards our board, while I pay only six." 

" Didn't you promise not to say anything mora 
about that ? " said Dick, reproachfully. 

" But I can't help thinking about it. If we had 
stayed at our old boarding-house in Bleecker Street, 
I could have paid my full share." 

" But this is a nicer room." 

' ' Much nicer. If I only paid my half, f should 
be glad of the chance." 


" Well, I'll promise you one thing If Mr. 
' ates pays you the two thousand dollars, you may 
pay your half of the expense." 

" Not much chance of that, Dick." 

" We can tell better after calling at the Astor 
House. Get on your coat and we'll start." 

While the boys, — for the elder of the two is but 
eighteen — are making preparations to go out, a 
few explanations may be required by the reader. 
Those who have read "Ragged Dick" and "Fame 
and Fortune," — the preceding volumes of this series, 
— will understand that less than three years before 
Richard Hunter was an ignorant and ragged bootblack 
about the streets, and Fosdick, though possessing a bet- 
ter education, was in the same business. By a series 
of upward steps, partly due to good fortune, but 
largely to his own determination to improve, and 
hopeful energy, Dick had now become a book-keeper 
in the establishment of Rockwell & Cooper, on 
Pearl Street, and possessed the confidence and good 
wishes of the firm in a high degree. 

Fosdick was two years younger, and, though an 
excellent boy, was less confident, and not so well 
fitted as his friend to contend with the difficulties of 


life, and fight his way upward. He was employed 
in Henderson's hat and cap store on Broadway, and 
was at present earning a salary of eight dollars a 
week. As the two paid sixteen dollars weekly for 
their board, Fosdick would have had nothing left if 
he had paid his full share. But Richard Hunter at 
first insisted on paying eleven dollars out of the six- 
teen, leaving his friend but five to pay, To this 
Fosdick would not agree, and was with difficulty 
prevailed upon at last to allow Richard to pay ten ; 
but he had always felt a delicacy about this, although 
he well knew how gladly his friend did it. 

The room which they now occupied was situated 
in St. Mark's Place, which forms *he eastern por- 
tion of Eighth Street. It was a front room on the 
third floor, and was handsomely furnished. There 
was a thick carpet, of tasteful figure, on the floor. 
Between the two front windows was a handsome 
bureau, surmounted by a large mirror. There was 
a comfortable sofa, chairs covered with hair-cloth, a 
centre-table covered with books, crimson curtains, 
which gave a warm and cosey look to the room when 
lighted up in the evening, and all the accessories of 
a well-furnished room which is used at the same 


('me ad parlor and chamber. This, with an excellent 
table, afforded a very agreeable home to the boys, — 
a home which, in these days, would cost considerably 
more, but for which, at the time of which I write, 
sixteen dollars was a fair price. 

It may be thought that, considering how recently 
Richard Hunter had been a ragged bootblack, con- 
tent to sleep in boxes and sheltered doorways, and 
live at the cheapest restaurants, he had become very 
luxurious in his tastes. Why did he not get a 
cheaper boarding-place, and save up the difference in 
price? No doubt this consideration will readily 
suggest itself to the minds of some of my young 

As Richard Hunter had a philosophy of his own 
on this subject, I may as well explain it here. He 
had observed that those young men who out of econ- 
omy contented themselves with small and cheerless 
rooms, in which there was no provision for a fire, 
were driven in the evening to the streets, theatres, 
and hotels, for the comfort which they could not find 
at home. Here they felt obliged to spend money to 
an extent of which they probably were not them- 
selves fully aware, and in the end wasted considera- 


»lj more than the two or three dollars a 'week extra 
which would have provided them with a comfortable 
aome. But this was not all. In the roamings 
spent outside many laid the foundation of wrong 
habits, which eventually led to ruin or shortened 
their lives. Thej lost all the chances of improve- 
ment which they might have secured by study at 
home in the long winter evenings, and which in the 
end might have qualified them for posts of higher 
responsibility, and with a larger compensation. 

Richard Hunter was ambitious. He wanted to 
rise to an honorable place in the community, and he 
meant to earn it by hard study. So Fosdick and he 
were in the habit of spending a portion of every 
evening in improving reading or study. Occasion- 
ally he went to some place of amusement, but he 
enjoyed thoroughly the many evenings when, before 
a cheerful fire, with books in their hands, his room- 
mate and himself were adding to their stock of 
knowledge. The boys had for over a year taken 
lessons in French and mathematics, and were now 
able to read the French language with considerable 

" What's the use of moping every evening in youi 


room?'' asked a young clerk who occupied a hall 
bedroom adjoining. 

" I don't call it moping. I enjoy it," was the 

" You don't go to a place of amusement once a 

" I go as often as I like." 

" Well, you're a queer chap. You pay such a 
thundering price for board. You could go to the 
theatre four times a week without its costing you 
any more, if you would take a room like mine." 

"I know it; but I'd rather have a nice, comfort- 
able room to come home to." 

"Are you studying for a college professor?" 
asked the other, with a sneer. 

"I don't know," said Dick, good-humoredly ; 
"but I'm open to proposals, as the oyster remarked. 
If you know any first-class institution that would 
like a dignified professor, of extensive acquirements, 
just mention me, will you ? " 

So Richard Hunter kept on his way, indifferent to 

the criticisms which his conduct excited in the minds 

of young men of his own age. He looked farther 

than they, and knew that if he wanted to succeed in 



life, and win the respect of his fellow-men, he caust 
do something else than attend theatres, and spend big 
evenings in billiard saloons. Fosdick, who was a 
quiet, studious boy, fully agreed with his friend in 
his views of life, and by his companionship did much 
to strengthen and confirm Richard in his resolution. 
He was less ambitious than Dick, and perhaps loved 
study more for its own sake. 

With these explanations we shall now be able to 
start fairly in our story. 




The two friends started from their room about 
seven o'clock, and walked up to Third Avenue, 
where they jumped vn board a horse-car, and withiD 
half an hour were landed at the foot of the City Hall 
Park, opposite Beekman Street. From this point it 
was necessary only to cross the street to the Astor 

The Astor House is a massive pile of gray stone , 
and has a solid look, as if it might stand for hundreds 
of years. When it was first erected, a little more 
than thirty years since, it was considered far up 
town, but now it is far down town, so rapid has been 
the growth of the city. 

Richard Hunter ascended the stone steps with a 
firm step, but Henry Fosdick lingered behind. 

" Do you think we had better go up, Dick ? " he 
said irresolutely. 


'Why not?" 

' I feel awkward about it." 

" There is no reason why you should. The 
money belongs to you rightfully, as the repre 
sentative of your father, and it is worth trying 

" I suppose you are right, but I shan't know 
what to say." 

" I'll help you alcng if I find you need it. Come 

Those who possess energy and a strong will gen- 
erally gain their point, and it was so with Richard 
Hunter. They entered the hotel, and, ascending 
some stone steps, found themselves on the main floor, 
where the reading-room, clerk's office, and dining- 
room are located. 

Dick, to adopt the familiar name by which his 
companion addressed him, stepped up to the desk, 
and drew towards him the book of arrivals. After 
a brief search he found the name of "Hiram Bates, 
Milwaukie, Wis.," towards the top of the left-hand 

"Is Mr. Bates in?" he inquired of the clerk, 
pointing to the name. 


" I will send and inquire, if you will write youi 
name on this card." 

Dick thought it would be best to send his own 
name, as that of Fosdick might lead Mr. Bates 
to guess the business on which they had come. 

He accordingly wrote the name, 

in his handsomest handwriting, and handed it to the 

That functionary touched a bell. The summona 
was answered by a servant. 

"James, go to No. 147, and see if Mr. Bates ia 
in. If he is, give him this card." 

The messenger departed at once, and returned 

"The gentleman is in, and would be glad to have 
Mr. Hunter walk up." 

" Come along, Fosdick," said Dick, in a low 

Fosdick obeyed, feeling very neivous. Follow 
ing the servant upstairs, they soon stood befon 
No. 147. 

James knocked. 


" Come in," was heard from the inside, and the 
two friends entered. 

They found themselves in a comfortably furnished 
room. A man of fifty-five, rather stout in build, 
and with iron-gray hair, rose from his chair before 
the fire, and looked rather inquiringly. He seemed 
rather surprised to find that there were two visitors, 
as well as at the evident youth of both. 

" Mr. Hunter?" he said, inquiringly, looking 
from Oxie to the other. 

" That is my name," said Dick, promptly. 

" Have I met you before? If so, my memory is 
at fault." 

" No, sir, we have never met." 

" I presume you have business with me. Be 
seated, if you please." 

" First," said Dick, " let me introduce my friend 
Henry Fosdick." 

" Fosdick ! " repeated Hiram Bates, with a 3light 
tinge of color. 

"I think you knew my father," said Fosdick, 

" Your father was a printer, — was he not ? " in* 
quired Mr. Bates. 


" Yes, sir." 

"I do remember him. Do you come from 

Fosdick shook his head. 

" He has been dead for two years," he said, 

''Dead! " repeated Hiram Bates, as if shocked. 
,{ Indeed, I am sorry to hear it." 

He spoke with evident regret, and Henry Fosdick, 
whose feelings towards his father's debtor had not 
been very friendly, noticed this, and was softened 
by it. 

" Did he die in poverty, may I ask ? " inquired 
Mr. Bates, after a pause. 

" He was poor," said Fosdick ; " that is, he had 
nothing laid up ; but his wages were enough to sup- 
port him and myself comfortably." 

" Did he have any other family? " 

" No, sir ; my mother died six years since, and 1 
had no brothers or sisters." 

" He left no property then? " 

" No, sir." 

'* Then I suppose he was able to make no pn»rw 
ion for you? " 


" No, sir." 

" But you probably had some relatives who came 
forward and provided for you ? " 

" No, sir; I had no relatives in New York." 

"What then did you do? Excuse my questions, 
but I have a motive in asking." 

" My father died suddenly, having fallen from a 
Brooklyn ferry-boat and drowned. He left nothing, 
and I knew of nothing better to do than to go into 
the streets as a boot-black." 

" Surely you are not in that business now?" 
said Mr. Bates, glancing at Fosdick's neat dress. 

u No, sir; I was fortunate enough to find a 
friend," — here Fosdick glanced at Dick, — "who 
helped me along, and encouraged me to apply for a 
place in a Broadway store. I have been there now for 
a year and a half." 

" What wages do you get? Excuse my curiosity, 
but your story interests me." 

" Eight dollars a week." 

" And do you find you can live comfortably on 

"Yes, sir; that is, with the assistance of my 
friend here." 


"I am g!o,d you have a friend who is able and 
willing to help you." 

" It is not worth mentioning," said Dick, mod- 
estly. ' ' I have received as much help from him aa 
he has from me." 

"I see at any rate that you are good friends, and 
a good friend is worth having. May I ask, Mr. Fos- 
dick, whether you ever heard your father refer to me 
in any way?" 

" Yes, sir." 

"You are aware, then, that there were some 
money arrangements between us? " 

" I have heard him say that you had two thousand 
dollars of his, but that you failed, and that it was 

"He informed you rightly. I will tell you 
the particulars, if you are not already aware 
of them." 

" I should be very glad to hear them, sir. My 
father died so suddenly that I never knew anything 
more than that you owed him two thousand dol- 

"Five years since," commenced Mr. Bates, "I 
was a broker in Wall Street. As from my business 


I was expected to know the best investments, some 
persons brought me money to keep for them, and I 
either agreed to pay them a certain rate of interest, 
or gave them an interest in my speculations. 
Among the persons was your father. The way 
\n which I got acquainted with him was this : 
Having occasion to get some prospectuses of a new 
company printed, I went to the office with which he 
was connected. There was some error in the print- 
ing, and he was sent to my office to speak with me 
about it. When our business was concluded, he 
waited a moment, and then said, ' Mr. Bates, I have 
saved up two thousand dollars in the last ten years, 
but I don't know much about investments, and I 
should consider it a favor if you wouia advise 

" { I will do so with pleasure,' I said. 'If you 
desire it I will take charge of it for you, and either 
allow you six per cent, interest, or give you a share 
of the profits I may make from investing it.' 

" Your father said that he should be glad to havt 
nic take the money for him, but he would prefer reg- 
ular interest to uncertain profits. The next day he 
brought the money, and put it in my hands. T* 


confess the truth I was glad to have him do so, for I 
was engaged in extensive speculations, and thought I 
could make use of it to advantage. For a year I paid 
him the interest regularly. Then there came a great 
catastrophe, and I found my brilliant speculations 
were but bubbles, which broke and left me but a 
mere pittance, instead of the hundred thousand dol- 
lars which I considered myself worth. Of course 
those who had placed money in my hands suffered, and 
among them your father. I confess that I regretted 
his loss as much as that of any one, for I liked his 
straightforward manner, and was touched by his evi- 
dent confidence in me." 

Mr. Bates paused a moment and then resumed : — 
"I left New York, and went to Milwaukie. Here 
I was obliged to begin life anew, or nearly so, for I 
only carried a thousand dollars out with me. But I 
have been greatly prospered since then. I took 
warning by my past failures, and have succeeded, by 
care and good fortune, in accumulating nearly as 
large a fortune as the one of which I once thought 
myself possessed. When fortune began to smile upon 
me I thought of your father, and tried through an 
agent to find him out. But he reported to me that 


his name was not to be found either in the New York 
er Brooklyn Directory, and I was too busily en- 
gaged to come on myself, and make inquiries. But 
I am glad to find that his son is living, and that I yet 
have it in my power to make restitution." 

Fosdick could hardly believe his ears. Was he 
after all to receive the money which he had supposed 
irrevocably lost ? 

As for Dick it is not too much to say that he felt 
even more pleased at the prospective good fortune u\ 
bin friend than if it had fallen to himself. 



fosdick's fortune. 

Mr. Bates took from Lis pocket a memorandum 
book, and jotted down a few figures in it. 

" As nearly as I can remember," he said, "it is 
four years since I ceased paying interest on the 
money which your father entrusted to me. The rate 
I agreed to pay was six per cent. How much will 
that amount to ? " 

" Principal and interest two thousand four hun- 
dred and eighty dollars," said Dick, promptly. 

Fosdick's breath was almost taken away as he 
heard this sum mentioned. Could it be possible that 
Mr. Bates intended to pay him as much as this? 
Why, it would be a fortune. 

"Your figures would be quite correct, Mr. Hunter/' 
said Mr. Bates, "but for one consideration. You for- 
get that your friend is entitled to compound interest, 
as no interest has been paid for four years Now, as 


you are do doubt used to figures, I will leave you to 
make the necessary correction." 

Mr. Bates tore a leaf from his memorandum book 
as he spoke, and handed it with a pencil to Richard 

Dick made a rapid calculation, and reported two 
thousand five hundred and twenty-four dollars. 

" It seems, then, Mr. Fosdick," said Mr. Bates, 
" that I am your debtor to a very considerable 

"You are very kind, sir," said Fosdick ; "but I 
shall be quite satisfied with the two thousand dollars 
without any interest." 

" Thank you for offering to relinquish the interest ; 
but ".t is only right that I should pay it. I have had 
thf> use of the money, and I certainly would not wish 
to defraud you of a penny of the sum which it took 
your father ten years of industry to accumulate. I 
wish he were living now to see justice done his son." 

" So do I," said Fosdick, earnestly. "I beg your 
pardon, sir," he said, after a moment's pause. 

"Why?" asked Mr. Bates in a tone of surprise. 

"Because," said Fosdick, "I have done you in- 
justice I thought you failed in order to make money, 


and intended to cheat my father out of his savings. 
That made me feel hard towards you." 

" You were justified in feeling so," said Mr. Bates. 
" Such cases are so common that I am not surprised 
at your opinion of me. I ought to have explained 
my position to your father, and promised to mako 
restitution whenever it should be in my power. But 
at the time I was discouraged, and could not foresee 
the favorable turn which my affairs have since taken. 
Now," he added, with a change of voice, "we will 
arrange about the payment of this money." 

" Do not pay it until it is convenient, Mr. Bates," 
said Fosdick. 

" Your proposal is kind, but scarcely business-like, 
Mr. Fosdick," said Mr. Bates. " Fortunately it will 
occasion me no inconvenience to pay you at once I 
have not the ready money with me as you may sup- 
pose, but I will give you a cheque for the amount 
upon the Broadway Bank, with which I have an ac- 
count; and it will be duly honored on presentation 
to-morrow. You may in return make out a receipt 
in full for the debt and interest. Wait a moment. 
I will ring for writing materials." 

These were soon brought by a servant of the hotel 


and Mr. Bates filled in a cheque for the sum speci- 
fied above, while Fosdick, scarcely knowing whether 
he was awake or dreaming, made out a receipt to 
which he attached his name. 

"Now," said Mr. Bates, "we will exchange 

Fosdick took the cheque, and deposited it care- 
fully in his pocket-book. 

" It is possible that payment might be refused to 
a boy like you, especially as the amount is so large. 
At what time will you be disengaged to-mor- 

"lam absent from the store from twelve to one 
for dinner. " 

" Very well, come to the hotel as soon as you are 
free, and I will accompany you to the bank, and get 
the money for you. I advise you, however, to leave 
it there on deposit until you have a chance to 
invest it." 

" How would you advise me to invest it, sir?" 
asked Fosdick. 

" Perhaps you cannot do better than buy shares 
of some good bank. You will then have no care ex- 
cept to collect your dividends twice a year." 


st That is what I should like to do," said Fosdick. 
1 What bank would you advise?" 

" The Broadway, Park, or Bank of Commerce, 
are all good banks. I will attend to the matter for 
you, if you desire it." 

"I should be very glad if you would, sir." 

" Then that matter is settled," said Mr. Bates. 
" I wish I could as easily settle another matter 
which has brought me to New York at this time, 
and which, I confess, occasions me considerable 

The boys remained respectfully silent, though not 
without curiosity as to what this matter might 

Mr. Bates seemed plunged in thought for a short 
time. Then speaking, as if to himself, he said, in a 
low voice, "Why should I not tell them? Per- 
haps they may help me." 

"I believe," he said, "I will take you into my 
confidence. You may be able to render me some 
assistance in my perplexing business." 

" I shall be very glad to help you if I can," said 

u And I also," said Fosdick. 


"I have come to New York in seal zh. of mj 
gTandson," said Mr. Bates. 

" Did he run away from home ? " asked Dick. 

" No, he has never lived with me. Indeed, I may 
add that I have never seen him since he was an 

The boys looked surprised. 

" How old is he now? " asked Fosclick. 
' He must be about ten years old. But I see 
that I must give you the whole story of what is a 
painful passage in my life, or you will be in no 
position to help me. 

" You must know, then, that twelve years since I 
considered myself rich, and lived in a handsome 
house up town. My wife was dead, but I had an 
only daughter, who I believe was generally consid- 
ered attractive, if not beautiful. I had set my heart 
upon her making an advantageous marriage ; that is, 
marrying a man of wealth and social position. I had 
in my employ a clerk, of excellent business abilities, 
and of good personal appearance, whom I sometimes 
invited to my house when I entertained company. 
His name was John Talbot. I never suspected that 
tiiere was any danger of my daughter's falling in 


love with the young man, until one day he came to 
me and overwhelmed mj with surprise by asking 
her hand in marriage. 

" You can imagine that I was very angry, 
whether justly or not I will not pretend to say. I 
dismissed the young man from my employ, and in- 
formed him that never, under any circumstances, 
would I consent to his marrying Irene. He was a 
high-spirited young man, and, though he did not 
answer me, I saw by the expression of his face that 
he meant to persevere in his suit. 

" A week later my daughter was missing. She 
left behind a letter stating that she could not give 
up John Talbot, and by the time I read the letter 
she would be his wife. Two days later a Philadel- 
phia paper was sent me containing a printed notice of 
their marriage, and the same mail brought me a 
joint letter from both, asking my forgiveness. 

" I had no objections to John Talbot except his 
poverty ; but my ambitious hopes were disappointed, 
and I felt the blow severely. I returned the letter 
to the address given, accompanied by a brief line to 
Irene, to the effect that I disowned her, and would 
never more acknowledge her as my daughter. 


11 1 saw her only once after that. Two years after 
ehe appeared suddenly in my library, having been 
admitted by the servant, with a child in her arms. 
But I hardened my heart against her, and though 
she besought my forgiveness, I refused it, and re- 
quested her to leave the house. I cannot forgive my- 
aelf when I think of my unfeeling severity. But it 
is too late too redeem the past. As for as I can I 
would like to atone for it. 

" A month since I heard that both Irene and her 
husband were dead, the latter five years since, but 
that the ehild, a boy, is still living, probably in deep 
poverty. He is my only descendant, and I seek to 
find him, hoping that he may be a joy and solace to 
me in the old age which will soon be upon me. It 
is for the purpose of tracing him that I have come to 
New York. When you, turning to Fosdick, referred 
to your being compelled to resort to the streets, and 
the hard life of a boot-black, the thought came to me 
that my grandson may be reduced to a similar ex- 
tremity. It would be hard indeed that he should 
grow up ignorant, neglected, and subject to every 
privation, when a comfortable and even luxurious 
home awaits him, if he can only be found." 


11 What is his name? " inquired Dick. 

"My impression is, that he was named after hia 
father, John Talbot. Indeed, I am quite sure that 
my daughter wrote me to this effect in a letter which 
I returned after reading." 

" Have you reason to think he is in New York ? " 

"My information is, that his mother died here a 
year since. It is not likely that he has been able to 
leave the city." 

" He is about ten years old? " 

" I used to know most of the boot-blacks and news- 
Doys when I was in the business," said Dick, reflect- 
ively ; " but I cannot recall that name." 

"Were you ever in the business, Mr. Hunter?' 
asked Mr. Bates, in surprise. 

"Ye?," said Richard Hunter, smiling; "I used 
to be or e of the most ragged boot-blacks in the city. 
Don t /ou remember my Washington coat, and Na- 
poleon pants, Fosdick?" 

" I remember them well." 

" Surely that was many years ago? " 

" It is not yet two years sinw I gave up blacking 

" You surprise me Mr. Hunter," said Mr. Bates 


11 1 congratulate you on your advance in life. Such 
a rise shows remarkable energy on your part.' - ' 

" 1 was lucky," said Dick, modestly. "I found 
some good friends who helped me along. But about 
your grandson : I have quite a number of friends 
among the street-boys, and I can inquire of them 
whether any boy named John Talbot has joined their 
ranks since my time." 

" I shall be greatly obliged to you if you will," 
said Mr. Bates. " But it is quite possible that cir- 
cumstances may have led to a change of name, so 
that it will not do to trust too much to this. Even 
if no boy bearing that name is found, I shall feel 
that there is this possibility in my favor." 

" That is true," said Dick. "It is very common 
for boys to change their name. Some can't remem- 
ber whether they ever had any names, and pick 
one out to suit themselves, or perhaps get one from 
those they go with. There was one boy I knew 
named ' Horace Greeley.' Then there were ' Fat 
Jack,' 'Pickle Nose,' 'Cranky Jim,' ' Tickle-me- 
foot,' and plenty of others.* You knew some of 
them, didn't you, Fosdick ? " 

* See sketches of the Formation of thp Newsboys' 1 oagi (g-house by 
C. L. Brace, Secretary of the Children's Aid Society. 


" I knew ' Fat Jack ' and ' Tickle-me-Foot,' " an- 
swered Fosdick. 

" This of course increases the difficulty of find- 
ing and identifying the boy," said Mr. Bates. 
" Here," he said, taking a card photograph from his 
pocket, "is a picture of my daughter at the time 
of her marriage. I have had these taken from a 
portrait in my possession." 

"Can you spare me one?" asked Dick. "It 
may help me to find the boy." 

" I will give one to each of you. I need not say 
that I shall feel most grateful for any service you 
may be able to render me, and will gladly reimburse 
any expenses you may incur, besides paying you 
liberally for your time. It will be better perhaps 
for me to lea^e fifty dollars with each of you to de- 
fray any expenses you may be at." 

"Thank you," said Dick; " but I am well sup- 
plied with money, and will advance whatever is need- 
ful, and if I succeed I will hand in my bill." 

Fosdick expressed himself in a similar way, 
and after some further conversation he and Dick 
rose to go. 

" I congratulate you on your wealth, Fosdick,' 


said Dick, when they were outside. " You're rich- 
er than I am now." 

" I never should have got this money but for you, 
Dick. I wish you'd take some of it." 

" Well, I will. You may pay my fare home on 
the horse-cars." 

"But really I wish you would." 

But this Dick positively refused to do, as might 
have been expected. He was himself the owner of 
two up-town lots, which he eventually sold for five 
thousand dollars, though they only cost him one, 
and had three hundred dollars besides in the bank. 
He agreed, however, to let Fosdick henceforth bear 
his share of the expenses of board, and this added 
two dollars a week to the sum he was able to lay 




It need hardly be said that Fosdick was punc* 
tual to his appointment at the Astor House on the 
following day. 

He found Mr. Bates in the reading-room, looking 
over a Milwaukie paper. 

" Good-morning, Mr. Fosdick," he said, extend- 
ing his hand. "I suppose your time is limited, 
therefore it will be best for us to go at once to the 

" You are very kind, sir, to take so much trouble 
on my account," said Fosdick. 

"We ought all to help each other," said Mr. 
Bates. "I believe in that doctrine, though I have 
not always lived up to it. On second thoughts," 
he added, as they got out in front of the hotel, " if 
you approve of my suggestions about the pur- 
chase of bank shares, it may not be necessary to go 


to the bank, as you can take thi3 cheque in pay* 

" Just as jou tliink best, sir. I can depend upon 
your judgment, as you know much more of such 
things than I." 

" Then we will go at once to the office of Mr. 
Ferguson, a Wall Street broker, and an old friend 
of mine. There we will give an order for some 
bank shares." 

Together the two walked down Broadway until 
they reached Trinity Church, which fronts the 
entrance to Wall Street. Here then they crossed 
the street, and soon reached the office of Mr. Fer- 

Mr. Ferguson, a pleasant-looking man with sandy 
hair and whiskers, came forward and shook Mr. Bates 
cordially by the hand. 

" Glad to see you, Mr. Bates," he said. " Where 
have you been for the last four years ? : ' 

1 ' In Milwaukie. I see you are ai the old 

"Yes, plodding along as usual. How do you 
like the West?" 

" I have found it a good place for business, though 


[ am not sure whether I like it as well to livi in as 
New York." 

" Shan't you come back to New York lome 

Mr. Bates shook his head. 

" My business ties me to Milwaukie," he raid. 
" I doubt if I ever return." 

"Who is this young man?" said the brolir, 
looking at Fosdick. "He is not a son of yours I 
think? " 

" No; I am not fortunate enough to have a SO3 . 
He is a young friend who wants a little businet \ 
done in your line and, I have accordingly brough 
him to you." 

" We will do our best for him. What is it? " 

" He wants to purchase twenty shares in som< 
good city bank. I used to know all about such mat 
ters when I lived in the city, but I am out of th* 
way of such knowledge now." 

" Twenty shares, you said?" 

" Yes." 

" It happens quite oddly that a party brought in 

only fifteen minutes since twenty shares in the 

Bank to dispose of. It is a good bank, and 1 


don't know that he can do any better than take 

" is a good bank. What interest does it 
i&y now? " 

" Eight per cent."* 

" That is good. What is the market value of the 

" It is selling this morning at one hundred and 

" Twenty shares then will amount to twenty-four 
hundred dollars." 

" Precisely." 

" Well, perhaps w 7 e had better take them. What 
do you say, Mr. Fosdick ? " 

"If you advise it, sir, I shall be very glad to 
do so." 

" Then the business can be accomplished at once, 
as the party left us his signature, authorizing the 

The transfer was rapidly effected. The broker's 
commission of twenty-five cents per share amounted 
to five dollars. It was found on paying this, added 
to the purchase money, that one hundred and nine- 

* This was before the war. Now most of the National Banks in New 
York pay ten per cent., and some even higher. 


teen dollars remained, — the cheque being for two 
thousand five hundred and twenty-four dollars. 

The broker took the cheque, and returned thia 
sum, which Mr. Bates handed to Fosdick. 

" You may need this for a reserve fund," he said, 
" to draw upon if needful until your dividend comes 
due. The bank shares will pay you probably ono 
hundred and sixty dollars per year." 

" One hundred and sixty dollars ! " repeated Fos- 
dick, in surprise. " That is a little more than three 
dollars a week." 


" It will be very acceptable, as my salary at the 
store is not enough to pay my expenses." 

"I would advise you not to break in upon your 
capital if you can avoid it," said Mr. Bates. "By 
and by, if your salary increases, you may be able to 
add the interest yearly to the principal, so that 
it may be accumulating till you are a man, wheD 
you may find it of use in setting you up in busi- 

" Yes, sir ; I will remember that. But I can 
hardly realize that I am really the owner of twenty 
bank shares." 


1 ' No ctaubt it seems sudden to you. Don t lei 
it make you extravagant. Most boys of your age 
would need a guardian, but you have had so much 
experience in taking care of yourself, that I think 
you can get along without one." 

" I have my friend Dick to advise me," said Fos 

"Mr. Hunter seems quite a remarkable young 
man," said Mr. Bates. "I can hardly believe that 
his past history has been as he gave it." 

"It is strictly true, sir. Three years ago ho 
could not read or write." 

"If he continues to display the same energy, I 
can predict for him a prominent position in the 

"I am glad to hear you say so, sir. Dick is a 
very dear friend of mine." 

" Now, Mr. Fosdick, it is time you were thinking 
of dinner. I believe this is your dinner hour ? " 

" Yes, sir." 

" And it is nearly over. You must be my guest 
to-day. I know of a quiet little lunch room near 
by, I used to frequent some years ago when I 
was in business on this street. We will drop in there 

on, F.ICHARD hunter's WARD. A'i 

and 1 think you will be able to get through in 

Fosdick could not well decline the invitation, but 
accompanied Mr. Bates to the place referred to, 
wnere he had a better meal than he was accustomed 
to. It was finished in time, for as the clock on 
the city hall struck one, he reached the door of 
Henderson's store. 

Fosdick could not very well banish from his mind 
the thoughts of his extraordinary change of fortune, 
and I am obliged to confess that he did not discharge 
his duties quite as faithfully as usual that afternoon. 
T will mention one rather amusing instance of his 
preoccupation of mind. 

A lady entered tin store, leading by the hand her 
son Edwin, a little boy of seven. 

" Have you any hats that will fit my little boy? " 
she said. 

" Yes, ma'am," said Fosdick, absently, and 
brought forward a large-sized man's hat, of the kind 
popularly known as " stove-pipe." 

" How will thfe cio? " asked Fosdick. 

" I don't want to wear such an ugly hat as that," 
said Edwin, in dismay. 


The lady looked at Fosdick as i? ohe had very 
strong doubts of his sanity. He saw his mistake, 
and, coloring deeply, said, in a hurried tone, "Ex- 
cuse me: I was thinking of something else." 

The next selection proved more satisfactory, and 
Edwin went out of the store feeling quite proud of 
his new hat. 

Towards the close of the afternoon, Fosdick was 
surprised at the entrance of Mr. Bates. He came 
up to the counter where he was standing, and said, 
"I am glad I have found you in. I was not quite 
sure if this was the place where }ou were em- 

"I am glad to see you, sir," saiil Fosdick. 

"I have just received a telegram from Mil wau- 
kie," said Mr. Bates, "summoning me home imme- 
diately on matters connected with business. I shall 
not therefore be able to remain here to follow up the 
search upon which I had entered. As you and your 
friend have kindly offered your assistance, I am 
going to leave the matter in your hands, and will 
authorize you to incur any expenses you may deem 
advisable, and I will gladly reimburse you whether 
you succeed or not." 


Fosdick assured him that they would spare no 
efforts, and Mr. Bates, after briefly thanking him, 
and giving him his address, hurried away, as he had 
determined to start on his return home that very 




It was growing dark, though yet scarcely six o'clock, 
for the day was one of the shortest in the year, when 
a small boy, thinly clad, turned down Frankfort 
Street on the corner opposite French's Hotel. He 
had come up Nassau Street, passing the " Tribune " 
Office and the old Tammany Hall, now superseded 
by the substantial new " Sun " building. 

He had a box of matches under his arm, of which 
very few seemed to have been sold. He had a weary, 
spiritless air, and walked as if cpuite tired. He had 
been on his feet all day, and was faint with hunger, 
having eaten nothing but an apple to sustain his 
strength. The thought that he was near his jour- 
ney's end did not seem to cheer him much. Whj 
this should be so will speedily appear. 

He crossed William Street, passed Gold Street, 
and turned down Vandewater Street, loading out of 


Frankfort's Street on the left. It is in the form of a 
short curve, connecting with that most crooked of all 
New York avenues, Pearl Street. He paused in 
front of a shabby house, and went upstairs. The 
door of a room on the third floor was standing ajar. 
He pushed it open, and entered, not without a kind 
of shrinking. 

A coarse-looking woman was seated before a scanty 
fire. She had just thrust a bottle into her pocket 
after taking a copious draught therefrom, and her 
flushed face showed that this had long been a habit 
with her. 

" Well, Mark, what luck to-night ? " she said, in a 
husky voice. 

" I didn't sell much," said the boy. 

" Didn't sell much? Come here," said the woman, 

Mark came up to her side, and she snatched the 
box from him, angrily. 

" Only three boxes gone?" she repeated. "What 
have you been doing all day ? " 

She added to the question a coarse epithet which 
1 bhall not repeat. 

" I tried to sell them, indeed I did, Mother Watson, 


indeed I did,"' said the boy, earnestly, 'but every* 
body had bought them already." 

"You didn't try," said the woman addressed aa 
Mother Watson "You're too lazy, that's what'a 
the matter. You don't earn your salt. Now give 
me the money." 

Mark drew from his pocket a few pennies, and 
handed to her. 

She counted them over, and then, looking up 
sharply, said, with a frown, " There's a penny short. 
Where is it?" 

" I was so hungry," pleaded Mark, " that I bought 
an apple, — only a little one." 

" You bought an apple, did you? " said the wom- 
an, menacingly. " So that's the way you spend 
my money, you little thief?" 

" I was so faint and hungry," again pleaded the 

" What business had you to be hungry? Didn't 
y^u have some breakfast this morning?" 

" I had a piece of bread." 

''That's more than you earned. You'll eat me 
out of house and home, you little thief! But I'll 
pay you off. I'll give you something to take away 


your appetite. You won't be hungry any more > I 
reckon." * 

She dove her flabby hand into her pocket, and 
produced a strap, at which the boy gazed with fright- 
ened look. 

"Don't beat me, Mother Watson," he said, im- 

" I'll beat the lazinessout of you," said the woman, 
vindictively. " See if I don't." 

She clutched Mark by the collar, and was about 
to bring the strap down forcibly upon his back, ill 
protected by his thin jacket, when a visitor entered 
the room. 

"What's the matter, Mrs. Watson?" asked the 

"Oh, it's you, Mrs. Flanagan?" said the woman, 
holding the strap suspended in the air. "I'll tell you 
what's the matter. This little thief has come home, 
after selling only three boxes of matches the whole 
day, and I find he's stole a penny to buy an apple 
with. It's for that I'm goin' to beat him." 

" Oh, let him alone, the poor lad," said Mrs. Flan- 
agan, who was a warm-hearted Irish woman. " Mayb« 
he was hungry." 


" Then why didn't ho work ? Them that work can 

" Maybe people didn't want to buy." 

" Well, I can't aftbrd to keep him h+ his idleness,'' 
said Mrs. Watson. " He may go to bed without hia 

" If he can't sell his matches, maybe people would 
give him something." 

Mrs. Watson evidently thought favorably of this 
suggestion, for, turning to Mark, she said, " Go 
out again, you little thief, and mind you don't come 
in again till you've got twenty-five cents to bring to 
me. Do you mind that? " 

Mark listened, but stood irresolute. 

"I don't like to beg," he said. 

"Don't like to beg!" screamed Mrs. Watson. 
" Do you mind that, now, Mrs. Flanagan ? He's 
too proud to beg." 

u Mother told me never io beg if I could help it," 
jaid Mark. 

" Well, you can't help it," said the woman, flour- 
ishing the strap i i a threatening manner. " Do you 
see this ?" 

" Yes." 

on, nicRARD hunter's ward. 55 

" Well, you'll feel it too, if you don't do as I tell 
you. Go out now." 

" I'm so hungry," said Mark; " won't you give 
me a piece of bread ? " 

" Not a mouthful till you bring back twenty-five 
cents. Start now, or you'll feel the strap." 

The boy left the room with a slow step, and 
wearily descended the stairs. I hope my young 
readers will never know the hungry craving after 
food which tormented the poor little boy as he made 
made his way towards the street. But he had hardly 
reached the foot of the first staircase when he heard 
a low voice behind him, and, turning, beheld Mrs. 
Flanagan, who had hastily followed after him. 

" Are you very hungry ? " she asked. 

" Yes, I'm faint with hunger." 

"Poor boy!" she said, compassionately; "coma 
in here a minute." 

She opened the door of her own room which was 
just at the foot of the staircase, and gently pushed 
him in 

It was a room of the same general appearance ag 
the one above, but was much neater looking. 

" Biddy Flanagan isn't the woman to let a poor 


motherless child go hungry when she's a bit of bread 
or meat by her. Here, Mark, lad, sit down, and I'll 
soon bring you something that'll warm up your poor 

She opened a cupboard, and brought out a plate 
containing a small quantity of cold beef, and two 
slices of bread. 

" There's some better mate than you'll get of 
Mother Watson. It's cold, but it's good." 

" She never gives me any meat at all," said Mark, 
gazing with a look of eager anticipation at the plate 
which to his famished eye looked so inviting. 

"I'll be bound she don't," said Mrs. Flanagan. 
"Talk of you being lazy! What does she do her- 
self but sit all day doing nothin' except drink whis- 
key from the black bottle ! She might get washin' 
to do, as I do, if she wanted to, but she won't work. 
She expects you to get money enough for both of 

Meanwhile Mrs. Flanagan had poured out a cup 
of tea from an old tin teapot that stood on the stove. 

"■ There, drink that, Mark dear," she said. " It'll 
arm you up, and you'll need it this cold night, I'm 
thinkin'. " 


The tea was not of the best quality, and the cup 
was cracked and discolored; but to Mark it was grate- 
ful and refreshing, and he eagerly drank it. 

"Is it good?" asked the sympathizing woman, 
observing with satisfaction the eagerness with which 
it was drunk. 

" Yes, it makes me feel "warm," said Mark. 

" It's better nor the whiskey Mother "Watson 
drinks," said Mrs. Flanagan. " It won't make your 
nose red like hers. It would be a sight better for 
her if she'd throw away the whiskey, and take to the 

" You are very kind, Mrs. Flanagan," said Mark, 
rising from the table, feeling fifty per cent, better 
than when he sat down. 

" Oh bother now, don't say a word about it ! Shure 
you're welcome to the bit you've eaten, and the littl* 
sup of tea. Come in again when you feel hungry 
and Bridget Flanagan won't be the woman to seno 
you off hungry if she's got anything in the cupboard." 

" I wish Mother Watson was as good as you are,'* 
said Mark. 

"I aint so good as I might be," said Mrs. Flana- 
gan; "but 1 wouldn't be guilty of tratin' a poor 


boy as that woman trates you, more shame to 1 x ! 
How came you with her any way ? She aint youi 
mother, is she." 

" No," said Mark, shuddering at the bare idea. 
" My mother was a good woman, and worked hard. 
She didn't drink whiskey. Mother was always kind 
to me. I wish she was alive now." 

"When did she die, Mark dear? " 

" It's going on a year since she died. I didn't 
know what to do, but Mother Watson told me to 
come and live with her, and she'd take care of me." 

" Sorra a bit of kindness there was in that," com- 
mented Mrs. Flanagan. " She wanted you to take 
care of her. Well, and what did she make you do ? " 

" She sent me out to earn what I could. Some- 
times I would run on errands, but lately I have sold 

" la it hard work sellin' them ? " 

" Sometimes I do pretty well, but some days 'it 
Beems as if nobody wanted any. To-day I went 
round to a great many offices, but they all had as 
many as they wanted, and I didn't sell but three 
boxes. I tried to sell more, indeed I did, but I 


11 No doubt you did, Mark, dear. It's cold you 
must be in that thin jacket of yours this cold weather. 
I've got a shawl you may wear if you like. You'll 
not lose it, I know." 

But Mark had a boy's natural dislike to being 
dressed as a girl, knowing, moreover, that his appear 
ance in the street with Mrs. Flanagan's shawl would 
subject him to the jeers of the street boys. So he 
declined the offer with thanks, and, buttoning up his 
thin jacket, descended the remaining staircase, and 
went out again into the chilling and uninviting street. 
A chilly, drizzling rain had just set in, and this 
made it even more dreary than it had been during 
the day. 





But it was not so much the storm or the coM 
weather that Mark cared for. He had become used 
to these, so far as one can become used to what is 
very disagreeable. If after a hard day's work ho 
had had a good home to come back to, or a kind and 
sympathizing friend, he would have had that thought 
to cheer him up. But Mother Watson cared nothing 
for him, except for the money he brought her, and 
Mark found it impossible either to cherish love or 
respect for the coarse woman whom he generally 
found more or less affected by whiskey. 

Cold and hungry as he had been oftentimes, he had 
always shrunk from begging. It seemed to lower 
him in his own thoughts to ask charity of others. 
Mother Watson had suggested it to him once or twice, 
but had never actually commanded it before. Now 
he was required to bring home twenty-five cents. He 



knew very well what would be the result if he failed 
to do this. Mother Watson would apply the leather 
strap with merciless fury, and he knew that his 
strength was as nothing compared to hers. So, for 
the first time in his life, he felt that he must make 
up his mind to beg. 

He retraced his steps to the head of Frankfort 
Street, and walked slowly down Nassau Street. The 
rain was falling, as I have said, and those Tvho could 
remained under shelter. Besides, business hours 
were over. The thousands who during the day 
made the lower part of the city a busy hive had gone 
to their homes in the upper portion of the island, or 
across the river to Brooklyn or the towns on the 
Jersey shore. So, however willing he might be to 
beg, there did not seem to be much chance at pres- 

The rain increased, and Mark in his thin clothes 
was soon drenched to the skin. He felt damp, cold, 
and uncomfortable. But there was no rest for him. 
The only home he had was shut to him, unless he 
should bring home twenty five-cents, and of this there 
seemed very little prospect. 

At the corner of Fulton Street he fell in with a 


ooy of twelve, short and sturdy in frame, dressed ir 
a coat whose tails nearly reached the sidewalk 
Though scarcely in the fashion, it was warmer thai 
Mark's, and the proprietor troubled himself very little 
about the looks. 

This boy, whom Mark recognized as Ben Gibson, 
had a clay pipe in his mouth, which he seemed to be 
smoking with evident enjoyment. 

" Where you goin' ?" he asked, halting in front 
of Mark. 

" I don't know," said Mark. 

" Don't know ! " repeated Ben, taking his pipe 
from his mouth, and spitting. "Where's your 

" I left them at home." 

" Then what'd did you come out for in this 
storm? " 

" The woman I live with won't let me come home 
till I've brought her twenty-five cents." 

" How'd you expect to get it? " 

" She wants me to beg." 

"That's a good way," said Ben, approvingly; 
" when you get hold of a soft chap, or a lady 
Them s the ones to shell out." 


-'I don't like it," said Mark. "I don't want 

people to think me a beggar." 

"What's the odds?" said Ben, philosophic-all y. 
" You're just the chap to make a good beggar." 

" What do you mean by that, Ben ? " said Mark, 
who was far from considering this much of a compli- 

" Why you're a thin, pale little chap, that people 
will pity easy. Now I aint the right cut for a beg- 
gar. I tried it once, but it was no go." 

"Why not?" asked Mark, who began to be in- 
terested in spite of himself. 

" You see," said Ben, again puffing out a volume 
of smoke, " I look too tough, as if I could take care 
of myself. People don't pity me. I tried it one 
night when I was hard up. I hadn't got but six 
cents, and I wanted to go to the Old Bowery bad. 
feo I went up to a gent as was comin' up Wall Street 
from the Ferry, and said, ' Won't you give a poor 
boy a few pennies to save him from starvin' ? ' 

" ' So you're almost starvin', are you, my lad ? ' 
lays he. 

" ' Yes, sir,' says I, as faint as I could. 

*' 'Well, starvin' seems to agree with you,' saya 


he, laugbin'. f You're the healthiest-lookin' beggar 
T've seea in a good while.' 

" I tried it again on another gent, and he told me 
hs guessed I was lazy: that a good stout boy like me 
ought to work. So I didn't make much beggin', and 
had to give up goin' to the Old Bowery that night, 
which I was precious sorry for, for there was a great 
benefit that evenin'. Been there often ? " 

" No, I never went." 

"Never went to the Old Bowery!" ejaculated 
Ben, whistling in his amazement. " Where were 
you raised, I'd like to know ? I should think you 
was a country greeny, I should." 

" I never had a chance," said Mark, who began 
to feel a little ashamed of the confession. 

" Won't your old woman let you go ? " 

" I never have any money to go." 

"If I was flush I'd take you myself. It's only 
fifteen cents," said Ben. " But I haven't got money 
enough only for one ticket. I'm goin' to-night." 

" Are you? " asked Mark, a little enviously. 

"Yes, it's a good way to pass a rainy evenin'. 
You've got a warm room to be in, let alone the play, 
which is splendid. Now, if you could only beg fif- 


te^n cents from some charitable cove, you might go 
along of me." 

"If I get any money I've got to carry it home." 

" Suppose you don't, will the old woman cut up 
rough ? ' ' 

" She'll beat me with a strap," said Mark, shud- 

' What makes you let her do it? " demanded Ben, 
rather disdainfully. 

" I can't help it." 

" She wouldn't beat me," said Ben, decidedly. 

" What would you do?" asked Mark, with in- 

" What would I do ? " retorted Ben. " Id kick, 
and bite, and give her one for herself between the 
eyes. That's what I'd do. She'd find me a hard 
case, I reckon." 

" It wouldn't be any use for me to try that," said 
Mark. " She's too strong." 

" It don't take much to handle you," said Ben, 
taking a critical survey of the physical points of 
Mark. " You're most light enough to blow away.'' 

"I'm only ten years old," said Mark, apologeti- 
cally. " I shall be bigger some time." 

66 mark, the match boy; 

" Maybe/' said Ben. dubiously; " but you don't 
look as if you'd ever be tough like me." 

"There," he added, after a pause, "I've smoked 
all my 'baccy. I wish I'd got some more." 

" Do you like to smoke? " asked Mark. 

" It warms a feller up," said Ben. " It's jest the 
thing for a cold, wet day like this. Didn't you ever 
try it ? " 


" If I'd got some 'baccy here, I'd give you a 
whiff; but I think it would make you sick the first 

"I don't think I should like it," said Mark, who 
had never felt any desire to smoke, though he knew 
plenty of boys who indulged in the habit. 

" That's because you don't know nothin' about 
it," remarked Ben. " I didn't like it at first till I 
got learned." 

" Do you smoke often ? " 

" Every day after I get through blackin' boots; 
that is, when I ain't hard up, and can't raise the 
stamps to pay for the 'Daccy. But I guess I'll be 
goin' up to the Old Bowery. It's most time for the 
doors to open. Where you goin' ? " 


" I don't know where to go," said Mark, help- 

" I'll tell you where you'd better go. You won' 
find nobody round here. Besides it aint comfortable 
lettin' the rain fall on you and wet you through." 
(While this conversation was going on, the boys had 
sheltered themselves in a doorway.) " Just you go 
down to Fulton Market. There you'll be out of the 
wet, and you'll see plenty of people passin' through 
when the boats come in. Maybe some of 'em will 
give you somethin'. Then ag'in, there's the boats. 
Some nights I sleep aboard the boats." 

1 ' You do ? Will they let you ? " 

" They don't notice. I just pay my two cents, 
and go aboard, and snuggle up in a corner and go to 
sleep. So I ride to Brooklyn and back all night. 
That's cheaper'n the Newsboys' Lodgin' House, for 
it only costs two cents. One night a gentleman 
came to me, and woke me up, and said, ' We'vs got 
to Brooklyn, my lad. If you don't get up they'll 
carry you back again.' 

" I jumped up and told him I was much obliged, 
as I didn't know what my family would say if I 
didn't get home by eleven o'clock. Then, just a# 


soon as his back was turned, I sat down again and 
went to sleep. It aint so bad sleepin' aboard the 
boat, 'specially in a cold night. They keep tho 
cabin warm, and though the seat isn't partic' laxly 
soft its better'n bein' out in the street. If you don't 
get your twenty-five cents, and are afraid of a lickin', 
you'd better sleep aboard the boat." 

"Perhaps I will," said Mark, to whom the idea 
was not unwelcome, for it would at all events save 
him for that night from the beating which would be 
his portion if he came home without the required 

"Well, good-night," said Ben; "I'll be goin' 

" Good-night, Ben," said Mark, " I guess I'll go 
to Fulton Market." 

Accordingly Mark turned down Fulton Street, 
while Ben steered in the direction of Chatham Street, 
through which it was necessary to pass in order to 
reach the theatre, which is situated on the Bowery, 
not far from its junction with Chatham Street. 

Ben Gibson is a type of a numerous class of im- 
provident boys, who live on from day to day, careless 
of appearances, spending their evenings where they 


can, at the theatre when their means admit, and 
sometimes at gambling saloons. Not naturally bad, 
they drift into bad habits from the force of outward 
circumstances. They early learn to smoke or chew, 
finding in tobacco some comfort during the cold and 
wet days, either ignorant of or indifferent to the 
harm which the insidious weed will do to their con- 
stitutions. So their growth is checked, or their 
blood is impoverished, as is shown by their pale 

As for Ben, he was gifted with a sturdy frame and 
an excellent constitution, and appeared as yet to ex- 
hibit none of the baneful effects of this habit. But 
no growing boy can smoke without ultimately being 
affected by it, and such will no doubt be the cast 
with Ben. 




Just across from Fulton Ferry stands Fulton 
Market. It is nearly fifty years old, having been 
built in 1821, on ground formerly occupied by un- 
sightly wooden buildings, which were, perhaps for- 
tunately, swept away by fire. It covers the block 
bounded by Fulton, South, Beekman, and Front 
Streets, and was erected at a cost of about quarter of 
a million of dollars. 

This is the chief of the great city markets, and an 
immense business is done here. There is hardly an 
hour in the twenty-four in which there is an entire 
lull in the business of the place. Some of the out- 
side shops and booths are kept open all night, while 
the supplies of fish, meats, and vegetables for the 
market proper are brought at a very early hour, 
almost before it can be called morning. 

Besides the market proper the surrounding side- 


walks are roofed over, and lined with shops and booths 
of the most diverse character, at which almost every 
conceivable article can be purchased. Most numer- 
ous, perhaps, are the chief restaurants, the counters 
loaded with cakes and pies, with a steaming vessel of 
coffee smoking at one end. The floors are sanded, 
and the accommodations are far from elegant or luxu- 
rious ; but it is said that the viands are by no means 
to be despised. Then there are fruit-stalls with tempt- 
ing heaps of oranges, apples, and in their season the 
fruits of summer, presided over for the most part by 
Hid women, who scan shrewdly the faces of passers-by, 
£nd are ready on the smallest provocation to vaunt 
the merits of their wares. There are candy and cocoa- 
nut cakes for those who have a sweet tooth, and 
many a shop-boy invests in these on his way to or 
from Brooklyn to the New York store w T here he is 
employed ; or the father of a family, on his way to his 
Brooklyn home, thinks of the little ones awaiting him, 
and indulges in a purchase of what he knows will be 
sure to be acceptable to them. 

But it is not only the wants of the body that are 
provided for at Fulton Market. On the Fulton 
Street side may be found extensive booths, at which 

72 ma n a, the AiA'icn dot; 

are displayed for sale a tempting array of papers, mag 
azines, and books, as well as stationery, photograph 
albums, etc., generally at prices twenty or thirty 
per cent, lower than is demanded for them in the 
more pretentious Broadway or Fulton Avenue stores. 

Even at night, therefore, the outer portion of the 
market presents a bright and cheerful shelter from 
the inclement weather, being securely roofed over, 
and well lighted, while some of the booths are kept 
open, however late the hour. 

Ben Gibson, therefore, was right in directing Mark 
to Fulton Market, as probably the most comfortable 
place to be found in the pouring rain which made the 
thoroughfares dismal and dreary. Mark, of course, 
had been in Fulton Market often, and saw at once 
the wisdom of the advice. He ran down Fulton 
Street as fast as he could, and arrived there panting 
and wet to the skin. Uncomfortable as he was, the 
change from the wet streets to the bright and com 
paratively warm shelter of the market made him at 
once more cheerful. In fact, it compared favorably 
with the cold and uninviting room which he shared 
with Mother Watson. 

As Mark looked around him, he could not help 


wishing that he tended in one of the little restaurants 
that looked so bright and inviting to him. Those 
who are accustomed to lunch at Delmonico's, or at 
some of the large and stylish hotels, or have their 
meals served by attentive servants in brown stone 
dwellings in the more fashionable quarters of the city, 
would be likely to turn up their noses at his humble 
taste, and would feel it an infliction to take a meal 
amid such plebeian surroundings. But then Mark 
knew nothing about the fare at Delmonico's, and was 
far enough from living in a brown stone front, and 
so his ideas of happiness and luxury were not very 
exalted, or he would scarcely have envied a stout 
butcher boy whom he saw sitting at an unpainted 
wooden table, partaking of a repast which was more 
abundant than choice. 

But from the surrounding comfort Mark's thoughts 
were brought back to the disagreeable business which 
brought him here. He was to solicit charity from 
some one of the passers-by, and with a sigh he began 
to look about him to select some compassionate face. 

" F chere was only somebody here that wanted an 
errand done," he thought, " and would pay ma 
twenty-five cents for doing it, I wouldn't have to beg 


I'd rather work two hours for the money than beg 

But there seemed little chance of this. In the 
busy portion of the day there might have been some 
chance, though this would be uncertain ; but now it 
was very improbable. If he wanted to get twen- 
ty-five cents that night he must get it from char- 

A beginning must be made, however disagreeable. 
So Mark went up to a young man who was passing 
along on his way to the boat, and in a shamefaced 
manner said, "Will you give me a few pennies, 
please? " 

The young man looked good-natured, and it was 
that which gave Mark confidence to address him. 

" You want some pennies, do you ? " he said, with 
a smile, pausing in his walk. 

"If you please, sir." 

" I suppose your wife and family are starv- 
ing, eh? " 

" I haven't got any wife or family, sir," said Mark. 

"But you've got a sick mother, or some brothers 
or sisters that are starving, haven't you?" 

"No, sir." 


" Then I'm afraid you're not up to your business 
How long have you been round begging? " 

'' Never before," said Mark, rather indignantly. 

" Ah, that accounts for it. You haven't learned 
the business yet. After a few weeks you'll have a 
sick mother starving at home. They all do, you 

"My mother is dead," said Mark ; " I shan't tell 
a lie to get money." 

" Come, you're rather a remarkable boy," said 
the young man, who was a repoi ter on a daily paper, 
going over to attend a meeting in Brooklyn, to write 
an account of it to appear in one of the city dailies in 
the morning. " I don't generally give money in 
such cases, but I must make an exception in your 

lie drew a dime from his vest-pocket and handed 
it to Mark. 

Mark took it with a blush of mortification at the 

" I wouldn't beg if I could help it," he said, de- 
siring to justify himself in the eyes of the good- 
natured young man. 

" I'm glad to hear that. Johnny." (Johnny is a 


common name applied to boys whose names are un- 
known.) " It isn't a very creditable business. What 
makes you beg, then ? " 

" I shall be beaten if I don't," said Mark. 

' ' That' s bad. Who will beat y ou ? " 

" Mother Watson." 

" Tell Mother Watson, with my compliments, that 
Bhe's a wicked old tyrant. I'll tell you what, my lad, 
you must grow as fast as you can, and by and by 
you'll get too large for that motherly old woman to 
whip. But there goes the bell. I must be getting 

This was the result of Mark's first begging appeal. 
He looked at the money, and wished he had got it in 
any other way. If it had been the reward of an 
hour's work he would have gazed at it with much 
greater satisfaction. 

Well, he had made a beginning. He had § >t ten 
cents. But there still remained fifteen cent? to ob- 
tain, and without that he did not feel safe in going 

So he looked about him for another pe^on to 
address. This time he thought he would a&k a 
lady. Accordingly he went up to one, mjo yi-xa 


walking with her son, a boy of sixteen, to judge 
from appearance, and asked for a few pennies. 

" Get out of my way, you little beggar ! " she 
Baid, in a disagreeable tone. " Aint you ashamed 
of yourself, going round begging, instead of earning 
money like honest people? " 

"I've been trying to earn money all day," said 
Mark, rather indignant at this attack. 

" Oh no doubt," sneered the woman. "I don't 
think you'll hurt yourself with work." 

"I was round the streets all day trying to sell 
matches," said Mark. 

" You mustn't believe what he says, mother," said 
the boy. " They're all a set of humbugs, and will 
lie as fast as they can talk." 

"I've no doubt of it, Roswell," said Mrs. Craw- 
ford. " Such little impostors never get anything 
out of me. I've got other uses for my money." 

Mark was a gentle, peaceful boy, but such attacks 
naturally made him indignant. 

" I am not an impostor, and I neither lie nor 
steal," he said, looking alternately from the mother 
tc the son. 

" Oh, you're a fine young man. I've no doubt,' 5 


said Roswell, with a sneer. " Bat we'd bettei he 
getting on, mother, unless you mean to stop in I al- 
ton Market all night." 

So mother and son passed on, leaving Mark with 
a sense of mortification and injury. He would have 
given the ten cents he had, not to have asked charity 
of this woman who had answered him so un- 

Those of my readers who have read the two preced- 
ing volumes of this series will recognize in Roswell 
Crawford and his mother old acquaintances who played 
an important part in the former stories. As, how- 
ever, I may have some new readers, it may be as 
well to explain that Roswell was a self-conceited 
boy, who prided himself on being "the son of a 
gentleman," and whose great desire was to find a 
place where the pay would be large and the duties 
very small. Unfortunately for his pride, his father 
had failed in business shortly before he died, and his 
mother had been compelled to keep a boarding-house. 
She, too, was troubled with a pride very similar to 
that of her son, and chafed inwardly at her position, 
instead of reconciling herself to it, as many bettei 
persons have done 


Roswell was not very fortunate in retaining the 
positions he obtained, being generally averse to doing 
anything except what he was absolutely obliged to 
do. He had lost a situation in a dry-goods store ia 
Sixth Avenue, because he objected to carrying bun- 
dles, considering it beneath the dignity of a gentle- 
man's son. Some months before he had tried to get 
Richard Hunter discharged from his situation in the 
hope of succeeding him in it; but this plot proved 
utterly unsuccessful, as is fully described in "Fame 
and Fortune." 

We shall have more to do with Roswe'l Crawford 
in the course of the present story. At present he 
was employed in a retail bookstore ur town, on a 
salary of six dollars a week. 




Mark had made two applications for charity, 
and still had but ten cents. The manner in which 
Mrs. Crawford met his appeal made the business 
seem more disagreeable than ever. Besides, he was 
getting tired. It was not more than eight o'clock, 
but he had been up early, and had been on his feet 
all day. He leaned against one of the stalls, but 
in so doing he aroused the suspicions of the vigi- 
lant old woman who presided over it. 

"Just stand away there," she said. "You're 
watchin' for a chance to steal one of them ap- 

"No, I'm not," said Mark, indignantly. "I 
never steal." 

" Don't tell me," said the old woman, who had a 
hearty aversion to boys, some of whom, it must be 
confessed, had in times past played mean tricks od 


Der; "don't tell me! Them that beg \* ill steal, 
and I see you beggin' just now." 

To this Mark had no reply to make. He saw that 
he was already classed with the young street beg- 
gars, many of whom, as the old woman implied, 
had no particular objection to stealing, if they got a 
chance. Altogether he was so disgusted with his 
new business, that he felt it impossible for him to 
beg any more that night. But then came up the 
consideration that this would prevent his returning 
home. He very well knew what kind of a reception 
Mother Watson would give him, and he had a very 
unpleasant recollection and terror of the leather 

But where should he go? He must pass the 
night somewhere, and he already felt drowsy. Why 
should he not follow Ben Gibson's suggestions, and 
sleep on the Fulton ferry-boat ? It would only 
cost two cents to get on board, and he might ride all 
night. Fortunately he had more than money enough 
for that, though he did net like to think how he came 
by the ten cents. 

When Mark had made up his mind, he passed 
out of one of the entrances of the market, and, cross- 


ing the street, presented his ten cents at the wicket, 
where stood the fare-taker. 

Without a look towards him, that functionary took 
the money, and pushed back eight cents. These 
Mark took, and passed round into the large room of 
the ferry-house. 

The boat was not in, but he already saw it half- 
way across the river, speeding towards its pier. 

There were a few persons waiting besides himself, 
but the great rush of travel was diminished for a 
short time. It would set in again about eleven 
o'clock when those who had passed the evening at 
some place of amusement in New York would be on 
their way home. 

Mark with the rest waited till the boat reached its 
wharf. There was the usual bump, then the chain 
rattled, the wheel went round, and the passengers 
began to pour out upon the wharf. Mark passed 
into the boat, and went at once to the " gentlemen's 
cabin," situated on the left-hand side of the boat. 
Generally, however, gentlemen rather unfairly crowd 
into the ladies' cabin, sometimes compelling the 
ladies, to whom it of right belongs, to stand, while 
they complacently monopolize the seats. The gen 


tJemen's cabin, so called, is occupied by those who 
have a little more regard to the rights of ladies, and 
by the smokers, who are at liberty to indulge in 
their favorite comfort here. 

When Mark entered, the air was redolent with 
tobacco-smoke, generally emitted from clay pipes and 
cheap cigars, and therefore not so agreeable as under 
other circumstances it might have been. But it was 
warm and comfortable, and that was a good deal. 

In the corner Mark espied a wide seat nearly 
double the size of an ordinary seat, and this he de- 
cided would make the most comfortable niche for 

He settled himself down there as well as he could. 
The seat was hard, and not so comfortable as it 
might have been ; but then Mark was not accustomed 
to beds of down, and he was so weary that his eyes 
closed and he was soon in the land of dreams. 

He was dimly conscious of the arrival at the 
Brooklyn side, and the ensuing hurried exit of pas- 
sengers from that part of the cabin in which he was , 
but it was only a slight interruption, and when the 
boat, having set out on its homeward trip, reached 
the New York side, he was fast asleep. 


" Poor little fellow ! " thought more than one, 
with a hast j glance at the sleeping boy. "He is 
taking his comfort where he can." 

But there was no good Samaritan to take him by 
the hand, and inquire into his hardships, and provide 
for his necessities, or rather there was one, and that 
one well known to us. 

Richard Hunter and his friend Henry Fosdick had 
been to Brooklyn that evening to attend an instruct- 
ive lecture which they had seen announced in one of 
the daily papers. The lecture concluded at half- 
past nine, and they took the ten o'clock boat over 
the Fulton ferry. 

They seated themselves in the first cabin, towards 
the Brooklyn side, and did not, therefore, see Mark 
until they passed through the other cabin on the 
arrival of the boat at New York. 

"Look there, Fosdick," said Richard Hunter. 
" See that poor little chap asleep in the corner. 
Doesn't it remind you of the times we used to have, 
when we were as badly off as he ? " 

" Yes, Dick, but I don't think I ever slept on a 

" That's because you were not on the streets long 


I took care of myself eight years, and more than 
once took a cheap bed for two cents on a boat like 
this. Most likely I've slept in that very cor- 
ner. " 

" It was a hard life, Dick." 

"Yes, and a hard bed too; but there's a good 
many that are no better off now. I always feel like 
doing something to help along those like this little 
chap here." 

" I wonder what he is, — a boot-black ? " 

"He hasn't got any brush or box with him. 
Perhaps he's a newsboy. I think I'll give him a 

'•' Wake him up, do you mean ? " 

" No, poor little chap ! Let him sleep. I'll put 
fifty cents in his pocket, and when he wakes up he 
won't know where it came from." 

" That's a good idea, Dick. I'll do the same. 
All right." 

"Here's the money. Put mine in with yours. 
Don't wake him up." 

Dick walked softly up to the match-boy, and 
gently inserted the money — one dollar — in one of 
the pockets of his ragged vest 


Mark was so fast asleep that he waa entirety 
unconscious of the benevolent act. 

" That'll make him open his eyes in the morn- 
ing," he said. 

" Unless somebody relieves him of the money 
during his sleep." 

" Not much chance of that. Pickpockets won't 
be very apt to meddle with such a ragged little chap 
as that, unless it's in a fit of temporary aberration of 

"You're right, Dick. But we must hurry out 
now, or we shall be carried back to Brooklyn." 

" And so get more than our money's worth. I 
wouldn't want to cheat the corporation so exten- 
sively as that." 

So the two friends passed out of the boat, and left 
the match boy asleep in the cabin, quite unconscious 
that good fortune had hovered over him, and made 
him richer by a dollar, while he slept. 

While we are waiting for him to awake, we may 
as well follow Richard Hunter and his friend home. 

Fosdick's good fortune, which we recorded in the 
earlier chapters of this volume had made no particu- 
lar change in their arrangements. They were 


already living in better style than was usual among 
youths situated as they were. There was this differ- 
ence, however, that whereas formerly Dick paid the 
greater part of the joint expense it was now divided 
equally. It will be remembered that Fosdick's 
interest on the twenty bank shares purchased in his 
name amounted to one hundred and sixty dollars 
annually, and this just about enabled him to pay his 
own way, though not leaving him a large surplus for 
clothing and incidental expenses. It could not be 
long, however, before his pay would be increased at 
the store, probably by two dollars a week. Until 
that time he could economize a little ; for upon one 
thing he had made up his mind, — not to trench upon 
his principal except in case of sickness or absolute 

The boys had not forgotten or neglected the com- 
mission which they had undertaken for Mr. Hiram 
Bates. They had visited, on the evening after he 
left, the Newsboys' Lodging House, then located at 
the corner of Fulton and Nassau Streets, in the 
upper part of the "Sun" building, an i had consulted 
Mr. O'Connor, the efficient superintendent, as to the 
boy of whom they were in search. But he had no 


information to supply them with. He promised to 
Inquire among the boys who frequented the lodge, 
as it was possible that there might be some among 
them who might have fallen in with a boy named 

Richard Hunter also sought out some of his old 
acquaintances, who were still engaged in blacking 
boots, or selling newspapers, and offered a reward of 
five dollars for the discovery of a boy of ten, named 
Talbot, or John Talbot. 

As the result of this offer a red-haired boy was 
brought round to the counting-room one day, who 
stoutly asserted that his name was John Talbot, 
and his guide in consequence claimed the reward. 
Dick, however, had considerable doubt as to the 
genuineness of this claim, and called the errand-boy, 
known to the readers of earlier volumes, as Micky 

"Micky," said Richard, "this boy says he is 
John Talbot. Do you know him? " 

"Know him!" repeated Micky; "I've knowed 
him ever since he was so high. He's no more John 
Talbot than I am. His name is Tim Hogan, and I'D 
defy him to say it isn't." 


Tim looked guilty, and his companion gave up the 
actempt to obtain the promised reward. He had 
hired Tim by the promise of a dollar to say he was 
John Talbot, hoping by the means to clear four 
dollars for himself. 

" That boy' 11 rise to a seat in the Common Coun- 
cil if he lives long enough,'' said Dick. "He's an 
unusually promising specimen." 




TlO night wore away, and still Mark, the match 
boy, continued to sleep soundly in the corner of the 
cabin whore he had established himself. One of 
the boat hands passing through noticed him, and 
was on the point of waking him, but, observing his 
weary look and thin attire, refrained from an im- 
pulse of compassion. He had a boy of about the 
flame age, and the thought came to him that some 
time his boy might be placed in the same situation, 
and this warmed his heart towards the little va- 

"I suppose I ought to wake him up," he reflect- 
ed, " but he isn't doing any harm there, and he may 
as well have his sleep out." 

So Mark slept on, — a merciful sleep, in which 
he forgot his poverty and friendless condition ; a 


sleep which brought new strength and refreshment 
to his limbs. 

When he woke up it was six o'clock in the morn- 
ing. But it was quite dark still, for it was in 
December, and, so far as appearances went, it might 
have been midnight. But already sleepy men and 
boys were on their way to the great city to their 
daily work. Some were employed a considerable 
distance up town, and must be at their posts at 
seven. Others were employed in the markets and 
must be stirring at an early hour. There were 
keepers of street-stands, who liked to be ready for 
the first wave in the tiie of daily travel that was to 
sweep without interruption through the city streets 
until late at night. So, altogether, even at this 
early hour there was quite a number of passen- 

Mark rubbed .his eyes, not quite sure where he 
was, or how he got there. He half expected to hear 
the harsh voice of Mother Watson, which usually 
aroused him to his daily toil. But there was no 
Mother Watson to be seen, only sleepy, gaping 
men and boys, clad in working dresses. 

Mark sat up and looked around him. 


11 Well, young chap, you've bad a nap, haven't 
you ? " said a man at his side, who appeared, from a 
strong smell of paint about his clothes, to be a 
journeyman painter. 

" Yes," said Mark. " Is it morning? " 

"To be sure it is. What did you expect it 

" Then I've been sleeping all night," said the 
match boy, in surprise. 


" Here." 

" In that corner ? " asked the painter. 

" Yes," said Mark; " I came aboard last night, 
and fell asleep, and that's the last I remember." 

" It must be rather hard to the bones," said the 
painter. "I think that I should prefer a regular 

"I do feel rather sore," said the match boy; 
" but I slept bully." 

" A little chap like yju can curl up anywhere. 
I don't think I could sleep very well on these seata 
Haven't you got any home?" 

" Yes," said Mark, " a sort of a home." 

" Then why didn't you sleep at home? " 


" 1 knew I should get a beating if I went home 
without twenty-five cents." 

'- Well, that's hard luck. I wonder how I should 
feel," he continued, laughing, "if my wife gave me 
a beating when I came home short of funds." 

But here the usual bump indicated the arrival of 
the boat at the slip, and all the passengers, the 
painter included, rose, and hurried to the edge of 
the boat. 

With the rest went Mark. He had no particular 
object in going thus early ; but his sleep was over, 
and there was no inducement to remain longer in tho 

The rain was over also. The streets were still 
wet from the effects of the quantity that had fallen, 
but there was no prospect of any more. Mark's 
wet clothes had dried in the warm, dry atmosphere of 
the cabin, and he felt considerably better than on the 
evening previous. 

Now, however, he could not help wondering what 
Mother Watson had thought of his absence. 

" She'll be mad, I know," he thought. " I sup- 
pose she'll whip me Avhen I get back." 

This "ertainly was not a pleasant thought. The 


leather strap was an old enemy of his, which he 
dreaded, and with good reason. He was afraid that 
he would get a more severe beating, for not having 
returned the night before, at the hands of the angry 
old woman. 

"I wish I didn't live with Mother Watson," he 

Straight upon this thought came another. " Why 
should he ? " 

Mother Watson had no claim upon him. Upon 
his mother's death she had assumed the charge of 
him, but, as it turned out, rather for her own advan- 
tage than his. She had taken all his earnings, and 
given him in return a share of her miserable apart- 
ment, a crust of bread or two, daily seasoned with 
occasional assaults with the leather strap. It had 
never occurred to Mark before, but now for the first 
time it dawned upon him that he had the worst of 
the bargain. He could live more comfortably by 
retaining his earnings, and spending them upon him- 

Mark was rather a timid, mild-mannered boy, 01 
he would sooner ha7e rebelled against the tyranny 
and abuse of Motner Watson. But he had had lit 


tie confidence in himself, and wanted somebody to 
lean on. In selecting the old woman, who had 
acted thus far as his guardian, he had leaned upon 
a broken reed. The last night's experience gave 
him a little courage. He reflected that he could 
sleep in the Newsboys' Lodging House for five cents, 
or on the ferry-boat again for two, while the fare at 
his old home was hardly so sumptuous but that he 
could obtain the same without very large expense. 

So Mark thought seriously of breaking his yoke 
and declaring himself free and independent. A 
discovery which he made confirmed him in his half- 
formed resolution. 

He remembered that after paying his toll he had 
eight cents left, which he had placed in his vest- 
pocket. He thought that these would enable him to 
get some breakfast, and drew them out. To his 
astonishment there were two silver half-dollars 
mingled with the coppers. Mark opened his eyes 
wide in astonishment. Where could they have come 
from ? Was it possible that the tollman had given 
him them by mistake for pennies ? That could not 
be, for two reasons : First, he remembered looking 
at the change as it was handed him, and he knew 


that there were no half-dollars among them. Again, 
the eight pennies were all there, the silver coina 
iDaking the number ten. 

It was certainly very strange and surprising, and 
puzzled Mark not a little. We, who know all about 
it, find the explanation very easy, but to the little 
match boy it was an unfathomable mystery. 

The surprise, however, was of an agreeable char- 
acter. With so much money in his possession, Mark 
felt like a man with a handsome balance at his 
banker's, and with the usual elasticity of youth he 
did not look forward to the time when this supply 
would be exhausted. 

" I won't go back to Mother Watson," he de- 
termined. " She's beaten me times enough. I'll 
take care of myself." 

While these thoughts were passing through his 
mind, he had walked up Fulton Street, and reached 
the corner of Nassau. Here he met his friend of 
the night before, Ben Gibson. 

Ben looked rather sleepy. He had been at the 
Old Bowery Theatre the night before until twelve 
o'clock, and, having no money left to invest in a 
night's lodging, he had crept into a corner cf the 


" Times " printing office, and slept, but had not quite 
slept off his fatigue. 

" Hallo, young 'un ! " said he. " Where did you 
come from? " 

" From Fulton Ferry," said Mark. " I slept on 
the boat." 

" Did you ? How'd you like it ? " 

" Pretty good," said Mark. " It was rather 

" How'd you make out begging ? " 

" Not very well. I got ten cents." 

" So you didn't dare to go home to the oIq 
woman? " 

"I shan't go home there any more," said the 
match boy. 

" Do you mean it? " 

"Yes, I do." 

" Bully for you ! I like your pluck. I wouldn't 
go back and get a licking, if I were you. What'll 
Mother Watson say ? " 

" She'll be mad, I expect," said Mark. 

" Keep a sharp lookout for her. I'll tell you 
what you can do : stay near me, and if she comes 
prowlin' round I'll manage her." 


« t\ 

Could you?" said Mark, quickly, who, from 
"certain recollections, had considerable fear of his 
stout tyrant 

"You may just bet on that. What you goin' to 

" I think I shall go and get some breakfast," said 

"So would I, if I had any tin; but I'm dead 
broke, — spent my last cent goin' to the Old Bowery. 
I'll have to wait till I've had one or two shines 
before I can eat breakfast." 

" Are you hungry ? " 

"I'll bet I am." 

"Because," said Mark, hesitating, "I'll lend 
you money enough for breakfast, and you can pay 
me when you earn it." 

" You lend me money ! " exclaimed Ben, in 
astonishment. " Why, you haven't got but eight 

" Yes, I have," said Mark, producing the two half- 
did lars. 

" Where'd you get them ? " asked the boot-black. 
ic unfeigned surprise, looking at Mark as if he had 
ail at once developed into an Astor or a Stewart. 


" You haven't been begging this morning, have 

" No," said the match boy, " and I don't mean U> 
beg again if I can help it." 

" Then wbere'd you get the money ? " 

" I don't know." 

" Don't know ! You haven't been stealin', hare 

Mark disclaimed the imputation indignantly. 

" Then you found a pocket-book? " 

"No, I didn't." 

" Then where did you get the money? " 

" I don't know any more than you do. When I 
went to sleep on the boat I didn't have it, but this 
morning when I felt in my pocket it was there." 

" That's mighty queer," said Ben, whistling. 

"So I think." 

" It's good money, aint it? " 

H Try it and see." 

Ben tossed up one of the coins. It fell with 5 
clear, ringing sound on the sidewalk. 

"Yes, that's good," he said. "I just wish some- 
body 'd treat me that way. Maybe it's the vest 
If 'tis I'd like to buy it." 


"I don't think it's that," said Mark, laughing 
"Anyway you've got the money. I'll borrow 

twenty cents of you, and we'll go and get some break* 





Ben led the way to a cheap restaurant, where for 
eighteen cents each of the boys got a breakfast, which 
to their not very fastidious tastes proved very satis- 

" There," said Ben, with a sigh of satisfaction, &a 
they rose from the table, "now I feel like work; I'll 
pay up that money afore night." 

"All right," said Mark. 

" What are you goin' to do ? " 

" I don't know," said Mark, irresolutely. 

" You're a match boy, - - aint you ? " 


" Whe*re's your matches ? " 

" In Mother Watson's room." 

" You might go and get 'em when she's out." 

" No," said Mark, shaking his head, " I won't do 


"Why not? You aint afraid to go round there. 
-- be you? " 

"It isn't that, — but the matches aie hers, not 

"What's the odds?" 

" I won't take anything of hers." 

" Well, you can buy some of your own, then. 
You've got money enough." 

" So I will," said Mark. " It's lucky that money 
carae to me in my sleep." 

" That's a lucky boat. I guess I'll go there and 
sleep to-night." 

Mark did as he proposed. With the money he 
had he was able to purchase a good supply of match- 
es, and when it became light enough he began to 
vend them. 

Hitherto he had not been very fortunate in the 
disposal of his wares, being timid and bashful ; but 
then he was working for Mother Watson, and ex- 
pected to derive very little advantage for himself from 
his labors. Now he was working for hinself, and 
this seemed to put new spirit and courage into him. 
Then again he felt that he had shaken off the hateful 
thraldom in which Mother Watson had held b im, and 

on, RicnARD hunter's ward. 103 

this gave him a hopefulness which he had not before 

The consequence was that at noon he found thai 
he had earned forty cents in addition to his invest- 
ment. At that time, too, Ben was ready to pay him 
his loan, so that Mark found himself twenty-two 
cents better off than he had been in the morning, hav- 
ing a capital of a dollar and thirty cents, out of 
which, however, he must purchase his dinner. 

While he is getting on in such an encouraging 
manner we must go back to Mother Watson. 

When Mark did not return the night before she 
grumbled considerably, but no thought of his inten- 
tional desertion dawned upon her. Indeed, she 
counted upon his timidity and lack of courage, know- 
ing well that a more spirited boy would have broken 
her chain long before. She only thought, therefore, 
that he had not got the twenty-five cents, and did 
not dare to come back, especially as she had forbid- 
den him to do so. 

So, determining to give him a taste of the leather 
3trap in the morning, she went to bed, first taking a 
fresh potation from the whiskey bottle, which was her 
constant companion. 


Late in the morning Mother Watson woke, feeling 
as usual, at that hour of the day, cross and ancomfort- 
able, and with a strong desire to make some one else 
uncomfortable. But Mark, whom she usually made 
to bear the burden of her temper, was still awaj. 
For the first time the old woman began to feel a little 
apprehcnsiTe that he had deserted her. This was far 
from suiting her, as she found his earnings very con- 
venient, and found it besides pleasant to have home- 
body to scold. 

She hastily dressed, without paying much attention 
to her toilet. Indeed, to do Mother Watson justice, 
her mind was far from being filled with the vanity 
of dress, and if she erred on that subject it was in 
the opposite extreme. 

When her simple toilet was accomplished she went 
downstairs, and knocked at Mrs. Flanagan's door. 

" Come in ! " said a hearty voice. 

Mrs. Flanagan was hard at work at her wash-tub, 
and had been for a good couple of hours. She raised 
her good-natured face as the old woman entered. 

" The top of the morning to you, Mother Wat- 
son," she said. " I hope you're in fine health this 
morning, mum." 


" Then you'll be disappointed," said Mrs. Watson. 
" I've got a bad feeling at my stomach, and have it 
most every morning." 

" It's the whiskey," thought Mrs. Flanagan; but 
she thought it best not to intimate as much, as it 
might lead to hostilities. 

" Better take a cup of tea," said she. 

" I haven't got any," said the old woman. " I 
wouldn't mind a sup if you've got som* handy." 

" Sit down then," said Mrs. Flanag?u, hospitably. 
"I've got some left from breakfast, oMy it's cold, 
but if you'll wait a bit, I'll warm it over foi 

Nothing loth, Mother Watson sank into a chair, 
and began to give a full account of her ivlroents to 
her neighbor, who tried hard to sympathize ^ ith her, 
though, knowing the cause of the ailments, aL^ foun \ 
this rather difficult. 

" Have you seen anything of my boy this room 
ing? " she asked after a while. 

" What, Mark ? " said Mrs. Flanagan. " DilV 
he come home last night ? " 

"No," said the old woman, "and he isn't hom< 
yet. When he does come I'll give him a dose of tha 


Btrap. He's a bad, lazy, shiftless boy, and worries 
my life out." 

"You're hard on the poor boy, Mother Watson. 
You must remember he's but a wisp of a lad, and 
hasn't much strength." 

"He's strong enough," muttered Mother "Watson. 
"It's lazy he is. Just let him come home, that's 
all ! " 

" You told him not to come home unless he had 
twenty-five cents to bring with him." 

" So I did, and why didn't he do it? " 

" He couldn't get the money, it's likely, and he's 
afraid of bein' bate." 

" Well, he will be bate then, Mrs. Flanagan, you 
may be sure of that," said the old woman, diving 
her hand into her pocket to see that the strap was 

" Then you're a bad, cruel woman, to bate that 
poor motherless child," said Mrs. Flanagan, with 

" Say that again, Mrs. Flanagan," ejaculated 
Mother Watson, irefully. " My hearin' isn't as 
good as it was, and maybe I didn't hear you right." 

"No wonder your hearin' isn't good," said Mrs 


Flanagan, who now broke bounds completely. "I 
shouldn't think you'd have any sense left with the 
whiskey you drink." 

"Perhaps you mean to insult me," said the old 
woman, glaring at her hostess with one of the frowns 
which used to send terror to the heart of poor Mark. 

"Take it as you please, mum," said Mrs. Flana- 
gan, intrepidly. "I'm entirely willin'. I've been 
wanting to spake my mind a long while, and now I've 
spoke it." 

Mother Watson clutched the end of the strap in 
her pocket, and eyed her hostess with a half wish that 
it would do to treat her as she had treated Mark so 
often ; but Mrs. Flanagan with her strong arms and 
sturdy frame looked like an antagonist not very easily 
overcome, and Mrs. Watson forbore, though unwil- 

Meanwhile the tea was beginning to emit quite a 
savory odor, and the wily old woman thought it best 
to change her tactics. 

Accordingly she burst into tears, and, rocking 
backward and forward, declared that she was a miser- 
able old woman, and hadn't a friend in the world, 
and succeeded in getting up such a display of miserv 


that the soft heart of Mrs. Flanagan was 
and she apologized for the unpleasant personal ob- 
servations she had made, and hoped Mother W#tson 
would take the tea. 

To this Mother Watson finally agreed, and intimat- 
ing that she was faint, Mrs. Flanagan made some 
toast for her, of which the cunning old woman par- 
took with exceeding relish, notwithstanding her state 
of unhappiness. 

" Come in any time, Mother Watson," said Mrs. 
Flanagan, " when you want a sip of tea, and I'll be 
glad to have you take some with me." 

" Thank you, Mrs. Flanagan; maybe I'll look in 
once in a while. A sip of tea goes to the right spot 
when I feel bad at my stomach." 

" Must you be goin', Mother Watson ? " 

" Yes," said the old woman ; " I'm goin' out on a 
little walk, to see my sister that keeps a candy-stand 
by the Pa^k railins. If Mark comes in, will you 
tell him he'll find the matches upstairs ? " 

This Mrs. Flanagan promised to do, and the old 
woman went downstairs, and into the street. 

But she had not stated her object quite correctly . 
It was true that she had a sister, who was in the con- 


fectionery and apple line, presiding over one of the 
stalls beside the Park railings. But the two sisters 
were not on very good terms, chiefly because the 
candy merchant, who was more industrious and cor- 
rect in her habits than her sister, declined to lend 
money to Mother Watson, — a refusal which led to a 
perfect coolness between them. It was not therefore 
to see her that the old woman went out. She wanted 
x> find Mark. She did not meap to lose her hold 
apon hira, if there was any chance of retaining it, 
and she therefore made up her mind to visit the 
places where he was commonly to be found, and, when 
found, to bring him home, by violence, if necessary. 
So with an old plaid cloak depending from her 
broad shoulders, and her hand grasping the strap in 
her pocket, she made her way to the square, peering 
about on all sides with her ferret-like eyes in the 
bop<» of discovering the missing boy. 



mark's victory. 

Meanwhile Mark, rejoicing in his new-found free* 
dom, had started on a business walk among the storea 
and offices at the lower part of Nassau Street, and 
among the law and banking offices of Wall Street. 
Fortunately for Mark there had been a rise in stocks, 
and Wall Street was in a good-humor. So a few of 
the crumbs from the tables of the prosperous bankers 
and brokers fell in his way. One man, who had just 
realized ten thousand dollars on a rise in some rail- 
way securities, handed Mark fifty cents, but declined 
to take any of his wares. So this was all clear 
profit and quite a windfall for the little match boy 
Again, in one or two cases he received double price 
for some of his matches, and the result was that he 
found himself by eleven o'clock the possessor of two 
dollars and a quarter, with a few boxes of matches 
still left. 


Mark could hardly realize his own good fortune. 
Somehow it seemed a great deal more profitable aa 
well as more agreeable to be in business for himself, 
than to be acting as the agent of Mother Watson. 
Mark determined that he would never go back to hei 
unless he was actually obliged to do so. 

He wanted somebody to sympathize with him in 
his good fortune, and, as he had nearly sold out, he 
determined to hunt up Ben Gibson, and inform him 
of his run of luck. 

Ben, as he knew, was generally to be found on 
Nassau Street, somewhere near the corner of Spruce 
Street. He therefore turned up Nassau Street from 
Wall, and in five minutes he reached the business 
stand of his friend Ben. 

Ben had just finished up a job as Mark came up. 
His patron was a young man of verdant appearance, 
who, it was quite evident, hailed from the country. 
He wore a blue coat with brass buttons, and a tall 
hat in the style of ten years before, with an immense 
top. He gazed with complacency at the fine polish 
which Ben had imparted to his boots, — a pair of 
etout cowhides, — and inquired with an assumption 
of indifference : — 


11 Well, boy, what's the tax? " 
'Twenty-five cents," said Ben, coolly. 

" Twentj-five cents ! " ejaculated the customer, 
with a gasp of amazement. ° Come now, you'ra 

'* No, I aint," said Ben. 

" You don't mean to say you charge twenty-five 
lents for five minutes' work? " 

" Reg'lar price," said Ben. 

" Why I don't get but twelve and a half cents an 
hour when I work out hay in'," said the young man 
in a tone expressive of his sense of the unfairness of 
the comparative compensation. 

" Maybe you don't have to pay a big license," 
Baid Ben. 

"A license for blackin' boots?" ejaculated the 
countryman, in surprise. 

"In course. I have to deposit five hundred dol- 
lars, more or less, in the city treasury, before I can 
black boots." 

"Five — hundred — dollars!" repeated the cus- 
tomer, opening his eyes wide at the information. 

" In course," said Ben. " If I didn't they'd put 
me in jail for a year." 


''And does he pay a license too?" asked the 
countryman, pointing to Mark, who had just come up. 

"He only has to pay two hundred and fifty dollars." 
said Ben. " They aint so hard on him as on us." 

The young man drew out his wallet reluctantly, 
and managed to raise twenty-three cents, which he 
handed to Ben. 

"I wouldn't have had my boots blacked, if I'd 
known the price," he said. " I could have blacked 
'em myself at home. They didn't cost but three dol- 
lars, and it don't pay to give twenty -five cents to 
have 'em blacked." 

"It'll make 'em last twice as long," said Ben. 
" My blackin' is the superiorest kind, and keeps 
boots from wearin' out." 

" I havn't got the other two cents," said the young 
man. " Aint that near enough ? " 

" It'll do," said Ben, magnanimously, " seein' you 
didn't know the price." 

The victimized customer walked away, gratified to 
have saved the two cents, but hardly reconciled to 
have expended almost quarter of a dollar on a piece 
of work which he might have done himself before 
leaving home. 


" Well, what luck, Mark ? " said Ben. " I took 
in that chap neat, didn't I? " 

" But you didn't tell the truth," said Mark. "You 
don't have to buy a license." 

" Oh, what's the odds ? " said Ben, whose ideas on 
the subject of truth were far from being strict. " It's 
all fair in business. Didn't that chap open his eyes 
when I told him about payin' five hundred dollars ? " 

"I don't think it's right, Ben," said Mark, seri- 

" Don't you go to preachin', Mark," said Ben, not 
altogether pleased. " You've been tied to an old 
woman's apron-string too long, — that's what's the 
matter with you." 

" Mother Watson didn't teach me the truth," said 
Mark. " She don't care whether I tell it or not ex- 
cept to her. It was my mother that told me I ought 
always to tell the truth." 

"Women don't know anything about business," 
said Ben. " Nobody in business speaks the truth. 
Do you see that sign ? " 

Mark looked across the street, and saw a large 
placard, setting forth that a stock of books and sta- 
tionery was selling off at less than cost. 


" Do you believe that ? " asked Ben. 

" Perhaps it's true," said Mark. 

" Then you're jolly green, that's all I've got to 
§ay," said Ben. " But you haven't told me how 
much you've made." 

" See here," said Mark, and he drew out his stock 
of money. 

" Whew ! " whistled Ben, in amazement. " You'r© 
in luck. I guess you've been speculatin' on youi 
license too." 

" No," said Mark ; " one gentleman gave me fifty 
cents, and two others paid me double price." 

"Why, you're gettin' rich ! " said Ben. " Aint 
you glad you've left the old woman ? " 

But just then Mark lifted up his eyes, and saw a 
sight that blanched his cheek. There, bearing down 
upon him, and already but a few feet distant, was 
Mother Watson ! She was getting over the ground 
as fast as her stoutness would allow. She had al- 
ready caught sight of Mark, and her inflamed eyes 
were sparkling with triumphant joy. Mark saw 
with terror that her hand was already feeling in the 
pocket where she kept the leather strap. Much aa 
he always feared the strap, the idea of having it ap 


plied to him in the public street made it even mora 

"What shall I do, Ben?" he said, clutching the 
arm of his companion. 

"What are you afraid of? Do you see a copp 
after you? " 

A " copp " is the street-boy's name for a police- 

•' No," said Mark ; " there's Mother Watson com- 
ing after me. Don't you see her ? " 

" That's Mother Watson, is it? " asked Ben, sur- 
veying the old body with a critical eye. " She's a 
beauty, she is ! " 

" What shall I do, Ben ? She'll beat me." 

" No, she won't," said Ben. " You just keep quiet, 
and leave her to me. Don't be afraid. She shan't 
touch you." 

" She might strike you," said Mark, apprehen- 

"She'd better not!" said Ben, very decidedly ; 
" not unless she wants to be landed in the middle of 
next week at very short notice." 

By this time Mother Watson came up, puffing and 
panting with the extraordinary efforts she had made 


She could not speak at first, but stood and glared at 
the match boy in a vindictive way. 

" What's the matter with you, old lady? " asked 
Ben, coolly. "You aint took sick, be you? I'd 
offer to support your delicate form, but I'm afraid 
you'd be too much for me." 

" What do you mean by runnin' away from home, 
you little thief?" said the old woman, at length 
regaining her breath. Of course her remark was 
addressed to Mark. 

" You're very polite, old lady," said Ben; " but 
I've adopted that boy, and he's goin' to live with me 

"I aint speakin' to you, you vagabone ! " said 
Mother Watson, " so you needn't give me no more of 
your impertinence. I'm a-speakin' to him." 

"I'm not going to live with you any more/' said 
Mark, gaining a little courage from the coolness of 
his friend, the boot-black. 

"Aint a goin' to live with me? " gasped the old 
W3man, who could hardly believe she heard aright 
'• Come right away, sir, or I'll drag you home." 

" Don't you stir, Mark," said Ben. 

Mother Watson drew out her strap, and tried t« 


get at the match boy, but Ben put himself persist- 
ently in her way. 

" Clear out, you vagabone ! " said the old lady. 
'' or I'll give you something to make you quiet." 

"You'd better keep quiet yourself," said Ben, not 
in the least frightened. "Don't you be afraid, 
Mark. If she kicks up a rumpus, I'll give her over 
to a copp. Hell settle her." 

Mother Watson by this time was very much in- 
censed. She pulled out her strap, and tried to get 
at Mark, but the boot-black foiled her efforts con- 

Carried away with anger, she struck Ben with the 

" Look here, old lady," said Ben, " that's goin' a 
little too far. You won't use that strap again; " and 
with a dexterous and vigorous grasp he pulled it out 
of her hand. 

"Give me that strap, you vagabone ! " screamed 
the old woman, furiously. 

"Look here, old lady, what are you up to?" 
demanded the voice of one having authority. 

Mother Watson, turning round, saw an object fof 
which she never had much partiality, — a policeman 


" sir," said she, bursting into maudlin tears, 
M it's iny bad boy that I want to come home, and he 
won't come.'' 

"Which is your boy, — that one?" asked the 
policeman, pointing to Bon Gibson. 

" No, not that vagabone ! " said the old woman, 
spitefully. ''I wouldn't own him. It's that othei 

" Do you belong to her? " asked the officer, ad- 
dressing Mark. 

" No, sir," said the match boy. 

"He does," vociferated the old woman. 

" Is^he your son? " 

" No," she said, after a moment's hesitation. 

" Is he any relation of yours ? " 

"Yes, he's my nephew," said Mother Watson, 
making up her mind to a falsehood as the only means 
of recovering Mark. 

" Is this true ? " asked the officer. 

"No, it isn't." said Mark. "She's no relation 
to me, but when my mother died she offered to take 
care of me. Instead of that she's half starved me, 
and beaten me with a strap when I didn't bring 
home as much money as she wanted." 


" Then you don't want to go back with her ?" 

" No, I'm going to take care of myself." 

c< Is there anybody that will prove the truth o! 
what you say ? ' ' 

"Yes," said Mark, "I'll call Mrs. Flanagan." 

" Who is she ? " 

" She lives in the same house with us." 

" Shall he call her, or will you give him up?' 
asked the officer. " By the way, I think you're the 
same woman I saw drunk in the street last week." 

Mother Watson took alarm at this remark, and, 
muttering that it was hard upon a poor widder woman 
to take her only nephew from her, shuffled off, leav- 
ing Mark and Ben in full possession of the field, with 
the terrible strap thrown in as a trophy of the vic- 
tory they had won. 

"I know her of old," said the policeman. "1 
guess youll do as well without her as with her." 

Satisfied that there would be no more trouble, he 
resumed his walk, and Mark felt that now in truth 
he was free and independent. 

As Mother Watson will not reappear in this 
story, it may bo said that only a fortnight later she 
was arrested for an assault upon her sister, the pro- 


prietor of the apple-stand, from whom she had en- 
deavored in vain to extort a loan, and was sentenced 
to the island for a period of three months, durii^ 
which she ceased to grace metropolitan society. 




WnEN Mother Watson had turned the oorner, 
Mark breathed a sigh of relief. 

" Don : t you think she'll come back again? " he 
asked anxiously of Ben Gibson. 

" No," said Ben, "she's scared of the copp. If 
she ever catches you alone, and tries to come any of 
her games, just call a copp, and she'll be in a hurry 
to leave." 

" Well," said Mark, " I guess I'll try to sell the 
rest of my matches. I haven't got but a few." 

" All right; I'll try for another shine, and then 
we'll go and have some dinner. I'd like to get hold 
of another greeny." 

Mark started with his few remaining matches. 
The feeling that he was his own master, and had a 
little hoard of money for present expenses, gave him 
courage, and he was no longer deterred by his usual 


nrnidi y. In an hour he had succeeded in getting 
rid of \11 his matches, and he was now the possessor 
of tw( dollars and seventy-five cents, including the 
money Ben Gibson owed him. Ben also was lucky 
enough to get two ten-cent customers, which helped 
his rec ipts by twenty cents. Ben, it may be re 
marked was not an advocate of the one-price system. 
He bla' <ed boots for five cents when he could get no 
more. When he thought there was a reasonable 
prosper- of getting ten cents, that was his price. 
Sometimes, as in the case of the young man from the 
rural districts, he advanced his fee to twenty-five 
tents. I don't approve Ben's system for my part. 
[ think it savors considerably of sharp practice, and 
lhat fair prices in the long run are the best for all 

The boys met again at one o'clock, and adjourned 
to a cheap underground restaurant on Nassau Street, 
where they obtained what seemed to them a luxu- 
rious meal of beefsteak, with a potato, a small plate 
of bread, and a cup of what went by the name of 
coffee. The steak was not quite up to the samp 
article at Delmonico's, and there might be somp 
reasonable doubts as to whether the coffee was a gen- 


nine article ; but as neither of the boys knew the dif- 
ference, we may quote Ben's familiar phrase, and 
%y, "What's the odds?" 

Indeed, the free and easy manner in which Ben 
threw himself back in his chair, and the condescend- 
ing manner in which he assured the waiter that the 
Bteak was " a prime article," could hardly have been 
surpassed in the most aristocratic circles. 

"Well, Mark, have you had enough?" asked 

"Yes," said Mark. 

"Well, I haven't," said Ben. "I guess I'll 
have some puddin'. Look here, Johnny," to the 
colored waiter, "just bring a feller a plate of apple 
dump with both kinds of sauce." 

After giving this liberal order Ben tilted his chair 
back, and began to pick his teeth with his fork. He 
devoted himself with assiduity to the consumption of 
the pudding, and concluded his expensive repast by 
the purchase of a two-cent cigar, with which he 
ancended to the street. 

" Better have a cigar, Mark," he said. 

" No, thank you," said the match boy. " I thinlf 
I'd rather not." 


1 Oh, you're feared of being sick. You'll come to 
it in time. All business men smoke." 

It is unnecessary to dwell upon the events of the 
afternoon. Mark was satisfied with the result of hia 
morning's work, and waited about with Ben till the 
close of the afternoon, when the question came up, 
as to where the night should be passed. 

" [ guess we'd better go to the Lodge," said Ben 
''Were you ever there ? " 

" No," said Mark. 

" Well, come along. They'll give us a jolly bed, 
all for six cents, and there's a good, warm room to 
stay in. Then we can get breakfast in the mornin' 
for six cents more." 

" All right, " said Mark. " We'll go." 

The down-town Newsboys' Lodging House was at 
that time located at the corner of Fulton and Nassau 
Streets. It occupied the fifth and sixth stories of 
the building then known as the " San "building, owned 
by Moses S. Beach, the publisher of that journal. 
In the year 1868 circumstances rendered it expedi- 
dient to remove the Lodfre to a building in Park 
Place It is to be hoped that at some day not far 
distant the Children's Aid Society, who carry on thia 


beneficent institution, will be able to erect a building 
of their own in some eligible locality, which can be 
permanently devoted to a purpose so praiseworthy. 

Ben and Mark soon reached the entrance to the 
Lodge on Fulton Street. They ascended several 
flights of narrow stairs till they reached the top 
story. Then, opening a door at the left, they found 
themselves in the main room of the Lodge. It was 
a low-studded room of considerable dimensions, amply 
supplied with windows, looking out on Fulton and 
Nassau Streets. At the side nearest the door was a 
low platform, separated from the rest of the room by 
a railing. On this platform were a table and two or 
three chairs. This was the place for the superintend- 
ent, and for gentlemen who from time to time ad- 
dress the boys. 

The superintendent at that time was Mr. Charles 
O'Connor, who still retains the office. Probably no 
one could be found better adapted to the difficult task 
9f managing the class of boys who avail themselves 
of the good offices of the Newsboys' Home. Ilia 
mild yet firm manner, and more than all the convic- 
tion that he is their friend, and feels a hearty interest 
in their welfare, secure a degree of decorum aud 


good behavior which could hardly be anticipated. 
Oaths and vulgar speech, however common in the 
street, are rarely heard here, or, if heard, meet with 
instant rebuke. 

The superintendent was in the room when Ben 
and Mark entered. 

"Well. Ben, what luck have you had to-day?" 
said Mr. O'Connor. 

" Pretty good," said Ben. 

" And who is that with you? " 

."Mother Watson's nephew," said Ben, with a 

" He's only joking, sir," said Mark. " My nam* 
is Mark Man ton." 

"lam glad to see you, Mark," said the superi» 
tendent. " What is your business ? " 

"I sell matches, sir." 

" Have you parents living ? " 

" No, sir ; they are both dead." 

" Where have you been living? " 

"In Vandewater Street." 

" With any one ? " 

"Yes, with a woman they call Mother Watson." 

" Is she a relation of yours ? " 


" No, sir," said Mark, hastily. 

" What sort of a woman is she ? " 

" Bad enough, sir. She gets drunk about every 
day and used to beat me with a strap when I did 
aot bring home as much money as she expected." 

" So you have left her? " 

" Yes, sir." 

" Have you ever been up here before ? " 

" No, sir." 

" I suppose you know the rules of the place." 

" Yes, sir ; Ben has told me." 

" You had better go and wash. We shall have 
supper pretty quick. Have you any money ? " 

" Yes, sir." 

Mark took out his hoard of money, and showed it 
to the superintendent, who was surprised at the 

" How did you get so much? " he asked. 

" Part of it was given me," said Mark. 

" What are you going to do with it? You don't 
need it all?" 

"Will you keep it for me, sir ? " 

11 1 will put as much of it as you can spare into 
the bank for you. This is our bank.'' 


lie pointed to a table beside the railing on the out- 
side. The top of it was pierced with narrow slits, 
each having a number attached. Each compartment 
was assigned to any boy who desired it, and his daily 
earnings were dropped in at the end of the day. 
Once a month the bank was opened, and the deposi- 
tor was at liberty to withdraw his savings if he de- 
sired it. This is an excellent arrangement, as it has 
a tendency to teach frugal habits to the young 
patrons of the Lodge. Extravagance is one of their 
besetting sins. Many average a dollar and over as 
daily earnings, yet are always ragged and out at 
elbows, and often are unsupplied with the small price 
of a night's lodging at the Home. The money is 
squandered on gambling, cigars, and theatre-going, 
while the same sum would make them comfortable 
and independent of charity. The disposition to save 
>s generally the first encouraging symptom in a 
street boy, and shows that he has really a desire to 
rise above his circumstances, and gain a respectable 
position in the world. 

Ben, who had long frequented the Lodging 
House off and on, led the way to the washing-room, 
where Mark, to his satisfaction, was able to cleanse 


himself from the dust and impurity of the street 
"At Mother Watson's he had had no accommodationa 
of the kind, as the old lady was not partial to water 
either internally or externally. He was forced to 
snatch such opportunities as he could find. 

"Now," said Ben, "well go into the gymna- 

A room opposite the main room had been fitted up 
with a few of the principal appliances of a gymna- 
sium, and these were already in use by quite a num- 
ber of boys. 

Mark looked on, but did not participate, partly 
from bash fulness, and partly because he did not very 
well understand the use of the different appli- 

" How do you like it ? " asked Ben. 

" Very much," said Mark, with satisfaction. " I'm 
glad you brought me here." 

" I'll show you the beds by and by," said Ben. 

The rooms on the floor below were used for lodg- 
ing. Tiers of neat beds, some like those in a steam- 
boat or a hospital, filled a large room. They were 
?cry neat in appearance, and looked comfortable. 
In order to insure their continuing neat, the super- 


intendent requires such as need it to wash their feet 
before retiring to bed 

The supper was of course plain, but of good qual- 
ity and sufficient quantity. 

About nine o'clock Mark got into the neat bed 
which was assigned him, and felt that it was more 
satisfactory even than the cabin of a Brooklyn ferry- 
boat. He slept peacefully except towards morning, 
when he dreamed that his old persecutor, Mother 
Watson, was about to apply the dreaded strap. He 
woke up terrified, but soon realized with deep satia- 
tion that he was no longer in her clutchea. 




During the next three months Mark made his 
home at the Lodging House. He was easily able to 
meet the small charges of the Lodge for bed and 
breakfast, and saved up ten dollars besides in the 
bank. Ben Gibson began to look upon him as quite 
a capitalist. 

"I don't see how you save up so much money, 
Mark," he said. " You don't earn more'n half as 
much as I do." 

" It's because you spend so much, Ben. It costs 
you considerable for cigars and such things, you 
know, and then you go to the Old Bowery pretty 

"A feller must have some fun," said Ben. 
" They've got a tearin' old play at the Bowery now 
You'd better come to-night." 

Mark shook his head. 


*'I feel pretty tired when it comes night," he 
said. " I'd rather stay at home." 

" You aint so tough as I am," said Ben. 

"No," said Mark, "I don't feel very strong. I 
think something's the matter with me." 

"Nothin' aint ever the matter with me," said 
Ben, complacently; " but you're a puny little chap, 
that look as if you might blow away some day." 

It was now April, and the weather was of that 
mild character that saps the strength and produces 
a feeling of weakness and debility. Mark had been 
exposed during the winter to the severity of stormy 
weather, and more than once got thoroughly drenched. 
It was an exposure that Ben would only have 
laughed at, but Mark was slightly built, without 
much strength of constitution, and he had been 
feeling very languid for a few days, so that it was 
with an effort that he dragged himself round during 
the day with his little bundle of matches. 

This conversation with Ben took place in the 
morning just as both boys were going to work. 

They separated at the City Hall Park, Ben finding 
a customer in front of the " Times " building, while 
Mark, after a little deliberation, decided to go on to 


Pearl Street with his matches. He had visited the 
offices in most of the lower streets, but this was a 
new region to him, and he thought he might meet 
with better success there. So he kept on his 

The warm sun and the sluggish air made his head 
ache, and he felt little disposition to oner his wares 
for sale. He called at one or two offices, but effect- 
ed no sales. At length he reached a large ware- 
house with these names displayed on the sign over 
the door : — 


This, as the reader will remember, was the es- 
tablishment in which Richard Hunter, formerly 
Ragged Dick, was now book-keeper. 

At this point a sudden faintness came over Mark, 
and he sank to the ground insensible. 

A moment before Richard Hunter handed a couple 
of letters to the office boy, — known to the readers 
of the earlier volumes in this series as Micky 
Maguire, — and said, "Michael, 1 should like to 
have you carry these at once to the post-office. On 


the way you may stop at Trescott & Wayne's, and 
get this bill cashed, if possible." 

"All right, Mr. Hunter," said Michael, respect- 

Richard Hunter and Micky Maguire had been 
boot-blacks together, and had had more than one con- 
test for the supremacy. They had been sworn 
enemies, and Micky had done his utmost to injure 
Richard, but the latter, by his magnanimity, had fi- 
nally wholly overcome the antipathy of his former foe, 
and, when opportunity offered, had lifted him to a 
position in the office where he was himself employed. 
In return, Micky had become an enthusiastic admirer 
of Richard, and, so far from taking advantage of their 
former relations, had voluntarily taken up the habit 
of addressing him as Mr. Hunter. 

Michael went out on his errand, but just outside 
the door came near stepping upon the prostrate form 
of the little match boy. 

"Get up here!" he said, roughly, supposing at 
first that Mark had thrown himself down out of 
laziness and gone to sleep. 

Mark didn't answer, and Micky, bending over, 
saw his fixed expression and waxen pallor . 


"Mavbe the little chap's dead," he thought, 
startled, and, without more ado, took him up in hia 
strong arms and carried him into the counting- 

" Wh: have you got there, Michael ? " asked Rich- 
ard Hunter, turning round in surprise. 

" A little match boy that was lyin' just outside 
the door. He looks as if he might be dead." 

Richard jumped at once from his stool, and, ap- 
proaching the boy, looked earnestly in his face. 

"He has fainted away," he said, after a pause. 
" Bring some water, quick ! " 

Micky brought a glass of water, which was thrown 
in the face of Mark. The match boy gave a little 
Bhiver, and, opening his eyes, fixed them upon Rich- 
ard Hunter. 

"Where am I?" he asked, vacantly. 

"You are with friends," said Richard, gently. 
"You were found at our door faint. Do you feel 

"I feel weak," said Mark. 

" Have you been well lately ? " 

" No, I've felt tired and weak." 

" Are you a match boy ? " 



" Have you parents living? " 

1 No," said Mark. 

a Poor fellow!" said Richard. "I know how 
to pity you. I have no parents either." 

"But you have got money," said Mark. "You 
don't have to live in the street." 

" I was once a street boy like you." 

" You ! " repeated the match boy, in surprise. 

" Yes. But where do you sleep? " 

" At the Lodging House." 

" It is a good place. Michael, you had better go 
to the post-office now." 

Mark looked about him a little anxiously. 

" Where are my matches? " he asked. 

" Just outside ; I'll get them," said Michael, 

He brought them in, and then departed on hia 

"I guess I'd better be going," said Mark, rising 

" No," said Richard. " You are not able. Come 
here and sit down. You will feel stronger by and 
by. Did you eat any breakfast this morning ? ' 


"A little," said Mark, "but I was not very hun« 

" Do you think you could eat anything now ? " 

Mark shook his head. 

" No," he said, "I don't feel hungry. I only 
feel tired." 

" Would you like to rest ? " 

"Yes. That's all I want." 

" Come here then, and I will see what I can do 
for you." 

Mark followed his new friend into the warehouse, 
where Richard found a soft bale of cotton, and told 
Mark he might lie down upon it. This the poor boy 
was glad enough to do. In his weakness he was dis- 
posed to sleep, and soon closed his eyes in slumber. 
Several times Richard went out to look at him, but 
found him dozing, and was unwilling to interrupt 

The day wore away, and afternoon came. 

Mark got up from his cotton bale, and with 
unsteady steps came to the door of the counting- 

" I'm going," he said. 

Richard turned round. 


" Where are you going ? " 

"I'm going to the Lodge. I think I won't sell 
any more matches to-day." 

" I'll take all you've left," said Richard. " Don't 
trouble yourself about them. But you are not going 
to the Lodge." 

Mark looked at him in surprise. 

"I shall take you home with me to-night," he 
said. " You are not well, and I will look after you. 
At the Lodge there will be a crowd of boys, and the 
noise will do you harm." 

" You are very kind," said Mark ; " but I'm afraid 
I'll trouble you." 

" No," said Richard, " I shan't count it a trouble. 
I was once a poor boy like you, and I found friends. 
I'll be your friend. Go back and lie down again, 
and in about an hour I shall be ready to take you 
with me." 

It seemed strange to Mark to think that there was 
Bomebody who proposed to protect and look after him. 
In many of the offices which he visited he met with 
rough treatment, and was ordered out of the way, aa 
if he were a dog, and without human feelings. Many 
who treated him in this way were really kind-hearted 


men who had at home children whom they loved, bul 
they appeared to forget that these neglected children 
of the street had feelings and wants as well as their 
own, who were tenderly nurtured. They did not re- 
member that they were somebody's children, and 
that cold, and harshness, and want were as hard for 
them to bear as for those in a higher rank of life. 
But Mark was in that state of weakness when it 
seemed sweet to throw off all care or thought for the 
future, and to sink back upon the soft bale with the 
thought that he had nothing to do but to rest. 

" That boy is going to be sick," thought Richard 
Hunter to himself. " I think he is going to have a 

It was because of this thought that he decided to 
carry him home. He had a kind heart, and he knew 
how terrible a thing sickness is to these little street 
waifs, who have no mother or sister to smooth their 
pillows, or cheer them with gentle words. The 
friendless condition of the little match boy touched 
his heart, and he resolved that, as he had the means 
of taking care of him, he would do so 

" Michael," he said, at the close of business houra 
" I wish you would call a hack." 


"What, to come here?" asked Micky, surprised. 

" Yes. I am going to take that little boy home 
with me. I think he is going to be sick, and I am 
afraid he would have a bard time of it if I sent him 
back into the street." 

" Bully for you, Mr. Hunter ! " said Micky, who, 
though rough in his outward manners, was yet capa- 
ble of appreciating kindness in others. There were 
times indeed in the past when he had treated smaller 
boys brutally, but it was under the influence of pas- 
sion. He had improved greatly since, and his better 
nature was beginning to show itself. 

Micky went out, and soon returned in state inside 
a hack. He was leaning back, thinking it would be 
a very good thing if he had a carriage of his own to 
ride in. But I am afraid that day will never come. 
Micky has already turned out much better than was 
expected, but he is hardly likely to rise much higher 
than the subordinate position he now occupies. In 
capacity and education he is far inferior to his old 
associate, Richard Hunter, who is destined to rise 
much higher than at present. 

Richard Hunter went to the rear of the ware- 
house where Mark still lay on his bale. 


" Coine," he said ; " we'll go home now." 

Mark rose from his recumbent position, and 
Walked to the door. He saw with surprise the car- 
riage, the door of which Micky Maguire held open. 

" Are we going to ride in that ? " he asked. 

" Yes," said Richard Hunter. " Let me help you 

The little match boy sank back in the soft seat in 
fague surprise at his good luck. He could not help 
wondering what Ben Gibson would say if he could 
see him now. 

Richard Hunter sat beside him, and supported 
Mark's head. The driver whipped up his horse, and 
they were speedily ^n their way up the Bowery to 
St Mark's Place. 




It was about half-past five o'clock in the afternoon 
when the carriage containing Richard Hunter and 
the match boy stopped in front of his boarding- 
place in St. Mark's Place. Richard helped the 
little boy out, saying, cheerfully, "Well, we've got 

" Is this where you live ? " asked Mark, faintly. 

" Yes. How do you like it? " 

" It's a nice place. I am afraid you are taking 
too much trouble about me.", 

" Don't think of that. Come in." 

Richard had ascended the front steps, after paying 
tne hackman, and taking out his night-key opened 
the outside door. 

" Come upstairs," he said. 

They ascended two flights of stairs, and Richard 
threw open the door of his room. A fire was already 


burning in the grate, and it looked bright and cheer* 

11 Do you feel tired ? : * asked Richard. 

" Yes, a little." 

" Then lie right down on the bed. You are hungry 
too, — are you not ? " 

" A little." 

" I will have something sent up to you." 

Just then Fosdick, who, it will be remembered, 
was Richard Hunter's room-mate, entered the room. 
He looked with surprise at Mark, and then inquir- 
ingly at Richard. 

"It is a little match boy," explained the lattei. 
" who fell in a fainting-fit in front of our office. I 
think the poor fellow is going to be sick, so I 
brought him home, and mean to take care of him till 
he is well." 

" You must let me share the expense, Dick," said 

" No, but I'll let you share the care of him. 
That will do just as well." 

" But I would rather share the expense. He re- 
minds me of the way I was situated when I fell in 
with you. What is your name? " 


' Mark Manton," said the match boy. 
'I've certainly seen him somewhere before,'' said 
Fosdick, reflectively. "His face looks familiar to 

" So it does to me. Perhaps I've seen him about 
the streets somewhere." 

" I have it," said Fosdick, suddenly; " don't you 
remember the boy we saw sleeping in the cabin of 
the Fulton Ferryboat?" 


"I think he is the one. Mark," he continued, 
turning to the match boy, "didn't you sleep one 
night on a Brooklyn ferry-boat about three months 

" Yes," said Mark. 

"And did you find anything in your vest-pocket 
in the morning? " 

"Yes," said the match boy with interest. "I 
fcuntl a dollar, and didn't know where it came from 
Was it you that put it in? " 

"He had a hand in it," said Fosdick, pointing 
with a smile to his room-mate. 

"I was very glad to get it," said Mark. "I 

only had eight cents besides, and that gave me 


enough to buy some matches. That was at the time 
I ran away." 

" Who did you run away from? " 

" From Mother Watson." 

"■ Mother Watson ? " repeated Dick. " I wonder 
if I don't know her. She is a very handsome old 
lady, with a fine red complexion, particularly about 
the nose." 

" Yes," said Mark, with a smile. 

" And she takes whiskey when she can get it? " 

" Yes." 

" How did you fall in with her ? " 

" She promised to take care of me when my mother 
died, but instead of that she wanted me to earn 
money for her." 

" Yes, she was always a very disinterested old 
lady. So it appears you didn't like her as a guar- 

" No." 

" Then suppose you take me. Would you like tc 
be ray ward? " 

<! I think I would, but I don't know what it 
means," said Mark. 

" It means that I'm tc look after you," said Dick, 


"just as if I was jour uncle or grandfather. You 
may call me grandfather if you want to." 

" Oh, you're too young," said Mark, amused in 
epite of his weakness. 

" Then we won't decide just at present about the 
name. But I forgot all about yoor being hungry." 

" I'm not very hungry." 

"At any rate you haven't had anything to eat 
since morning, and need something. I'll go down 
and see Mrs. Wilson about it." 

Richard Hunter soon explained matters to Mrs. 
Wilson, to whom he offered to pay an extra weekly 
Bum for Mark, and arranged that a small single bed 
should be placed in one corner of the room tempo- 
rarily in which the match boy should sleep. He 
speedily reappeared with a bowl of broth, a cup 
of tea, and some dry toast. The sight of these caused 
the match boy's eyes to brighten, and he was able 
to do very good justice to all. 

"Now," said Richard Hunter, "I will call in a 
doctor, and find out what is the matter with my 
little ward." 

In the course of the evening Dr. Pemberton, a 
young dispensary physician, whose acquaintance 


Richard had casually made, called at his request and 
looked at the patient. 

"He is not seriously sick," he pronounced. £ Ii 
is chiefly debility that troubles him, brought on 
I robably by exposure, and over-exertion in this lan- 
guid spring weather." 

"Then you don't think he is going to have a 
fever? " said Dick. 

" No, not if he remains under your care. Had 
he continued in the street, I think he would not have 
escaped one." 

" What shall we do for him ? " 

" Rest is most important of all. That, with nour- 
ishing food and freedom from exposure, will soon 
bring him round again." 

"He shall have all these." 

" I suppose you know him, as you take so much 
interest in him ? " 

" No, I never saw him but once before to-day, but 
t am able to befriend him, and he has no other 
friends r ' 

" There are not many young men who would take 
*11 this trouble about a poor match boy," said the 


" It's because they don't koow how hard it is to 
be friendless and neglected," said Dick. "I've 
known that feeling, and it makes me pity those who 
are in the same condition I once was." 

"I wish there were more like you, Mr. Hunter," 
said Dr. Pemberton. " There would be less suffer- 
ing in the world. As to our little patient here, I 
have no doubt he will do well, and soon be on his 
legs again." 

Indeed Mark was already looking better and feel 
ing better. The rest which he had obtained during 
the day, and the refreshment he had just taken, were 
precisely what he needed. He soon fell asleep, and 
Richard and Fosdick. lighting the gas lamp on the 
centre-table, sat down to their evening studies. 

In a few days Mark was decidedly better, but it 
was thought best that he should still keep the room. 
He liked it very well in the evening when Dick and 
Fosdick were at home, but he felt rather lonesome 
in the daytime. Richard Hunter thought of this 
one day, and said, " Can you read, Mark? " 

" Yes," said the match boy. 

"Who taught you? Not Mother Watson, 


" No, she couldn't read herself. It was my 
mother who taught me." 

" I think I must get you two or three books of 
stories to read while we are away in the day- 

"You are spending too much money for me, Mr 

" Remember I am your guardian, and it is my 
duty to take care of you." 

The next morning on his way down town, Richard 
Hunter stepped into a retail bookstore on Broadway. 
As he entered, a boy, if indeed it be allowable to 
apply such a term to a personage so consequential in 
his manners, came forward. 

" What, Roswell Crawford, are you here? " asked 
Richard Hunter, in surprise. 

Roswell, who has already been mentioned in this 
story, and who figured considerably in previous vol- 
umes of this series, answered rather stiffly to this 

"Yes," he said. "I am here for a short time. 
[ came in to oblige Mr. Baker." 

"You were always very obliging, Roswell," said 
Richard, good-humoredly. 


Roswell did not appear to appreciate this complin 
ment. He probably thought it savored of irony. 

" Do you want to buy anything this morning?" he 
said, shortly. 

"Yes; I would like to look at some books of fairy 

" For your own reading, I suppose," said Roswell. 

" I may read them, but I am getting them for my 

"Is he a boot-black ? " sneered Roswell, who knew 
all about Dick's early career. 

"No," said Richard, "he's a match boy; so if 
you've got any books that you can warrant to be 
just the thing for match boys, I should like to see 

"We don't have many customers of that class," 
said Roswell, unpleasantly. " They generally go 
to cheaper establishments, when they are able to 

" Do they ? " said Dick. " I'm glad you've got 
into a place where you only meet the cream of soci- 
ety," and Dick glanced significantly at a red- nosed 
man who came in to buy a couple of sheets of note- 


Roswell colored. 

" There are some exceptions," he said, and glanced 
pointedly at Richard Hunter himself. 

"Well," said Dick, after looking over a collection 
of juvenile books, "I'll take these two." 

He drew out his pocket-book, and handed Roswell 
a ten-dollar bill. Roswell changed it with a feeling 
of jealousy and envy. He was the "son of a gen- 
tleman," as he often boasted, but he never had a ten- 
dollar bill in his pocket. Indeed, he was now working 
for six dollars a week, and glad to get that, after 
having been out of a situation for several months. 

Just then Mr. Gladden, of the large down-town 
firm of Gladden & Co., came into the store, and, see- 
ing Richard, saluted him cordially. 

"How are you this morning, Mr. Hunter?" he 
said. " Are you on your way down town? " 

"Yes, sir," said Richard. 

" Come with me. We will take an omnibus to- 
gether ; " and the two walked out of the store in 
familiar conversation. 

" I shouldn't think such a man as Mr. Gladden 
would notice a low boot-black," said Roswell, bit- 


The rest of the day he was made ur.happy by the 
thought of Dick's prosperity, and » & jwn hard fate, 
in being merely a clerk in a booku//v ^ith a salarj 
of six dollars a week. 




In a week from the purchase of the books, Mark 
Jelt that he was fully recovered. He never had 
much color, but the unhealthy pallor had left his 
cheeks, and he had an excellent appetite. 

"Well, Mark, how do you feel to-night? " asked 
Richard, on his return from the store one evening. 

"I'm all right, now, Mr. Hunter. I think I will 
go to work to-morrow morning." 

"What sort of work?" 

" Selling matches." 

" Do you like to sell matches? " 

" I like it better than selling papers, or blacking 

" But wouldn't you like better to be in a store? " 

"I couldn't get a place," said Mirk. 

"Why not?" 

1 My clothes are ragged," said the match boy with 


some hesitation. " Besides I haven't got anybody 
to refer to." 

" Can't you refer to your guardian ? " asked Rich- 
aid Hunter, smiling. 

" Do you think I had better try to get a place in 
a store, Mr. Hunter ? " asked Mark. 

"Yes, I think it would be much better for you 
than to sell matches on the street. You are not a 
strong boy, and the exposure is not good for you. 
As to your clothes, we'll see if we cannot supply you 
with something better than you have on." 

" But," said Mark, " I want to pay for my clothes 
myself. I have got ten dollars in the bank at the 
Newsboys' Lodge." 

" Very well. You can go down to-morrow morn- 
ing and get it. But we needn't wait for that. I 
will go and get you some clothes before I go to busi- 

In the morning Richard Hunter went out with 
the match boy, and for twenty dollars obtained 
for him a very neat gray suit, besides a supply of 
under-clothing. Mark put them on at once, and felt 
not a little pleased with the improvement in his ap- 


"You can carry your old clothes to Mr. O'Con- 
nor," said Richard. "They are not very g*»od, but 
they are better than none, and he may have an op- 
portunity of giving them away." 

" You have been very kind to me, Mr. Hunter," 
%aid Mark, gratefully. " Good-by." 

• ' Good-by ? What makes you say that ? ' ' 

" Because I am going now to the Newsboys' 

" Yes, but you are coming back again." 

" But I think I had better go there to live now. 
It will be much cheaper, and I ought not to put you 
to so much expense." 

" You're a good boy, Mark, but you must remem- 
ber that I am your guardian, and am to be obeyed as 
such. You're not going back to the Lodge to live. 
I have arranged to have you stay with me at my 
boarding-place. As soon as you have got a place you 
will work in the daytime, and every Saturday night 
you will bring me your money. In the evening 1 
shall have you study a little, for I don't want you to 
grow up as ignorant as I was at your age." 

" Were you ignorant, Mr. Hunter? " asked Mark, 
with interest 


" Yea, I was," said Richard. " When I was four 
teen, I couldn't read nor write." 

"I can hardly believe that, Mr. Hunter," said 
Mark. " You're such a fine scholar." 

" Am I ? " asked Richard, smiling, jet well pleased 
with the compliment. 

" Why, you can read French as fast as I can read 
English, and write beautifully." 

" Well, I had to work hard to do it," said Richard 
Hunter. " But I feel paid for all the time I've 
spent in trying to improve myself. Sometimes I've 
thought I should like to spend the evening at some 
place of amusement rather than in study ; but if I 
had, there'd be nothing to show for it now. Take 
my advice, Mark, and study all you can, and you'll 
grow up respectable and respected." 

"Now," he added, after a pause, "1*11 tell you 
what you may do. You may look in my ' Herald ' 
every morning, and whenever you see a boy adver- 
tised for you can call, or whenever, in going along the 
Btreet, you see a notice ' Boy wanted,' you may call in, 
and sooner or later you'll get something. If thej 
ask for references, you may refer to Richard Hunter 
book-keeper for Rockwell & Cooper." 


" Thank you, Mr. Hunter," said Mark. "I will 
do so." 

On parting with his guardian the match boy went 
down town to the Lodging House. The superin- 
tendent received him kindly. 

" I didn't know what had become of you, Mark," 
he said. " If it had been some of the boys, I should 
have been afraid they had got into a scrape, and gone 
to the Island. But I didn't think that of you." 

" I hope you'll never hear that of me, Mr. O'Con- 
nor," said Mark. 

"I hope not. I'm always sorry to hear of any 
boy's going astray. But you seem to have been 
doing well since I saw you ; " and the superintendent 
glanced at Marks new clothes. 

" I've met with some kind friends," said the match 
boy. "I have been sick, and they took care of 

" And now you have come back to the Lodge." 

" Yes, but not to stay. I came for the money 
that I have saved up ir. the bank. It is going fof 
these clothes." 

- ' Very well. You shall have it. What is the 
name of the friend who has taken care of you ? " 


" Richard Hunter." 

"I know him," said the superintendent. "He u 
an excellent young man. You could not be in bettei 

On leaving the Lod«;e Mark felt a desire to find 
his old ally, Ben Gibson, who, though rather a rough 
character, had been kind to him. 

Ben was not difficult to find. During business 
hours he was generally posted on Nassau Street, 
somewhere between Fulton Street and Spruce 

He was just polishing off a customer's boots when 
Mark came up, and touched him lightly on the 
shoulder. Ben looked up, but did not at first rec- 
ognize the match boy in the neatly dressed figure 
before him. 

" Shine yer boots ! " he asked, in a professional 

" Why, Ben, don't you know me?" asked Mark, 

" My eyes, if it aint Mark, the match boy ! " ex- 
claimed Ben, in surprise. " Where' ve you beet all 
this while, Mark?" 

" I've been sick, Ben." 


" I'd like to be sick too, if that's the way you got 
them clo'es. I didn't know what had "come of you.' 

" I found some good friends," said Mark. 

"If your friends have got any more good clo'es 
they want to get rid of," said Ben, "tell 'em you 
know a chap that can take care of a few. Are you 
in the match business now ? " 

"I haven't been doing anything for three weeks," 
said Mark. 

" Goin' to sell matches again ? " 


" Sellin' papers ? " 

" No, I'm trying to find a place in a store." 

" I don't think I'd like to be in a store," said Ben, 
reflectively. "I'm afraid my delicate constitution 
couldn't stand the confinement. Besides, I'm my 
own boss now, and don't have nobody to order me 

" But you don't expect to black boots all your life, 
Ben, do you?" 

"I dunno," said Ben. "Maybe when I'm mar* 
ried, I'll choose some other business. It would be 
rather hard to support a family at five cents a shine 
Are you comin' to the Lodge to-night? " 


" No," said Mark, " I'm boarding up at St. Mark's 

" Mother Watson hasn't opened a fashionable 
boardin'-house up there, has she ? " 

" I guess not," said Mark, smiling. "I can't think 
what has become of her. I haven't seen her since 
the day she tried to carry me off." 

" I've heard of her," said Ben. " She's stoppin' 
with some friends at the Island. They won't let her 
come away on account of likin' her company so 

" I hope I shall never see her again," said Mark, 
with a shudder. " She is a wicked old woman. But 
I must be going, Ben." 

"I s'pose you'll come and see a feller now and 

" Yes, Ben, when I get time. But I hope to get 
a place soon." 

Mark walked leisurely up Broadway. Having 
been confined to the house for three weeks, he en- 
joyed the excitement of being out in the street once 
more. The shop windows looked brighter and gayer 
than before, and the little match boy felt that the 
world was a very pleasant place after all. 


He had passed Eighth Street before he was fairly 
aware of the distance he had traversed. He found 
himself looking into the window of a bookstore. 
While examining the articles in the window his eye 
suddenly caught the notice pasted in the middle of 
the glass on a piece of white paper : — 

"boy wanted." 

" Perhaps they'll take me," thought Mark, sudden- 
ly. " At any rate I'll go in and see." 

Accordingly he entered the store, and looked about 
him a little undecidedly. 

*' Well, sonny, what do you want? " asked a clerk. 

"I see that you want a boy," said Mark. 

" Yes. Do you want a place ? " 

" I am trying to get one." 

" Well, go and see that gentleman about it." 

He pointed to a gentleman who was seated at a 
desk in the corner of the store. 

" Please, sir, do you want a boy ? " he asked. 

" Yes," said the gentleman. " How old are 

" Ten years old." 


" You are rather young. Have you been in any 
place before? " 

" No, sir." 

" Do you know your way about the city pretty 

" Yes, sir." 

11 1 want a boy to deliver papers and magazines, 
and carry small parcels of books. Do you think you 
could do that?" 

"Yes, sir." 

" Without stopping to play on the way ? " 

" Yes, sir." 

" I have just discharged one boy, because he was 
gone an hour and a half on an errand to Twentieth 
Street. You are the first boy that has answered 
my advertisement. I'll try you on a salary of three 
dollars a week, if you can go to work at once. 
What is your name ? " 

" Mark Manton." 

" Very well, Mark. Go to Mr. Jones, behind 
the counter there, and he will give you a parcel to 
carry to West Twenty-First Street." 

" I'm in luck," thought Mark. " I iidn't expect 
to get a place so easily." 



mark's first impressions. 

Probably my readers already understand that 
tLe bookstore in which Mark has secured a place is 
the same in which Roswell Crawford is employed. This 
circumstance, if Mark had only known it, was likely 
to make his position considerably less desirable than 
it would otherwise have been. Mr. Baker, the proprie- 
tor of the store, was very considerate in his treatment 
of those in his employ, and Mr. Jones, his chief clerk, 
was good-natured and pleasant. But Roswell was 
very apt to be insolent and disagreeable to those 
who were, or whom he considered to be, in an infe- 
rior position to himself, while his lofty ideas of his 
own dignity and social position as the "spn of a 
gentleman," made him not very desirable as a clerk. 
Still he had learned something from his bad luck 
thus far. He had been so long in getting his pres> 
ent place, that he felt it prudent to sacrifice his pride 


i»» some extent for the sake of retaining it. But if 
he could neglect his duties without attracting atten- 
tion, he resolved to do it, feeling that six dollars waa 
a beggarly salary for a young gentleman of hia 
position and capacity. It was unfortunate for him, 
and a source of considerable annoyance, that ho 
could get no one except his mother to assent to hia 
own estimate of his abilities. Even his Cousin 
Gilbert, who had been Rockwell & Cooper's book- 
keeper before Richard Hunter succeeded to the posi- 
tion, did not conceal his poor opinion of Roswell ; 
but this the latter attributed to prejudice, being 
persuaded in his own mind that his cousin was 
somewhat inclined to be envious of his superior 

At the time that Mark was so suddenly engaged 
by Mr. Baker, Roswell had gone out to dinner. 
When he returned, Mark had gone out with the 
parcel to West Twenty-first Street. So they missed 
each other just at first. 

" Well, Crawford," said Mr. Jones, as Roswell 
re-entered the store, ' ' Mr. Baker has engaged a new 

* : Has he ? What sort of a fellow is he ? : ' 


" A little fellow. He doesn't look as if be was 
more than ten years old." 

" Where is he?" 

" Mr. Baker sent him on an errand to Twenty- 
first Street." 

"Humph!" said Roswell, a little discontented, 
" I was going to recommend a friend of mine." 

" There may be a chance yet. This boy may not 

In about five minutes Mr. Baker and Mr. Jones 
both went out to dinner. It was the middle of the 
day, when there is very little business, and it would 
not be difficult for Roswell to attend to any custom- 
ers who might call. 

As soon as he was left alone, Roswell got an in- 
teresting book from the shelves, and, sitting down 
in his employer's chair, began to read, though this 
was against the rules in business hours. To see the 
pomj>ous air with which Roswell threw himself back 
in his chair, it might have been supposed that he 
was the proprietor of the establishment, though I 
believe it is true, as a general rule, that employers 
are not in the habit of putting on so many airs, un- 
less the position is a new one, and they have not yet 


£i>t over the new feeling of importance which it ig 
apt to inspire at first. 

While Roswell was thus engaged Mark returnel 
from his errand. 

lie looked about him in some uncertainty oa 
entering the store, not seeing either Mr. Baker or 
the chief clerk. 

" Come here," said Roswell, in a tone of au- 

Mark walked up to the desk. 

"So you are the new boy?" said Roswell, 
after a close scrutiny. 

" Yes." 

"It would be a little more polite to say 'Yet 
sir.' " 

"Yes, sir." 

" What is your age ? " 

" Ten years." 

{ Humph ! You are rather young. If I had 
been consulted I should have said ' Get a boy of 
twelve years old.' " 

" I hope I shall suit," said Mark. 

1 I hope so,'' said Roswell, patronizingly. "Yon 
will find us very easy to get along with if you do 


youi duty. We were obliged to send away a boy 
this morning because he played instead of going on 
his errands at once." 

Mark could not help wondering what was Ros- 
cell's position in the establishment. He talked aa 
if he were one of the proprietors ; but his youthful 
appearance made it difficult to suppose that. 

" What is your name ? " continued Roswell. 

"Mark Manton." 

" Have you been in any place before? " 

" No, sir." 

" Do you live with your parents? " 

" My parents are dead." 

" Then whom do you live with ? " 

" With my guardian." 

" So you have a guardian? " said Roswell, & lit 
tie surprised. " What is his name ?" 

"Mr. Hunter." 

"Hunter!" repeated Roswell, hastily. " Whal 
is his first name ? " 

" Richard I believe." 

" Dick Hunter ! " exclaimed Roswell, scornfully 
11 Do you mean to say that he has charge of 


"Yea," said Mark, firmly, for he perceived the 
tone in which his friend was referred to, and resent- 
ed it. Moreover the new expression which came 
over Roswell's face brought back to his recollection 
the evening when, for the first time in his life, he 
had begged in Fulton Market, and been scornfully 
repulsed by Roswell and his mother. Roswell's face 
had at first seemed familiar to him, but it was only 
now that he recognized him. Roswell, on the other 
hand, was not likely to identify the neatly dressed 
boy before him with the shivering little beggar of 
the market. But it recurred to him all at once 
that Dick had referred to his ward as a match 

" You were a match boy? " he said, in the man- 
ner of one making a grave accusation. 

" Yes, sir." 

"Then why didn't you keep on selling matches, 
and not try to get a place in a respectable store? " 

" Because Mr. Hunter thought it better for me 
to go into a store." 

" Mr. Hunter ! Perhaps you don't know that 
youi guardian, as you call him, used to be a boot- 


"Yes, he told me so." 
~ " They called him ' Ragged Dick ' then," sand 
Roswell, turning up his nose. " He couldn't read 
or write, I believe." 

"He's a good scholar now," said Mark. 

" Humph ! I suppose he told you so. But you 
mustn't believe all he tells you." 

"He wouldn't tell anything but the truth," said 
Mark, who was bolder in behalf of his friend than he 
would have been for himself. 

"So he did tell you he was a good scholar? I 
thought so." 

"No, he told me nothing about it; but since I 
have lived with him I've heard him read French as 
well as English." 

' Perhaps that isn't saying much," said Roswell, 
with a sneer. "Can you read yourself? " 


"That is more than I expected. What induced 
Mr. Baker to take a boy from the street is more than 
I can tell." 

" I suppose I can run errands just as well, if I 
was rnce a match boy," said Mark, who did not 
fency the tone which Roswell assumed towards him, 


and began to doubt whether he was a person of as 
much importance as he at first supposed. 

"We shall see," said Roswell, loftily. "But 
there's one thing I'll advise you, young man, and 
that is, to treat me with proper respect. You'll find 
it best to keep friends with me. I can get you 
turned away any time." 

Mark hardly knew whether to believe this or not. 
He already began to suspect that Roswell was some- 
thing of a humbug, and though it was not in hia 
nature to form a causeless dislike, he certainly did 
not feel disposed to like Roswell. He did not care 
§o much for any slighting remarks upon himself, as 
for the scorn with which Roswell saw fit to speak of 
his friend, Richard Hunter, who by his good offices 
had won the little boy's lasting gratitude. Mark 
did not reply to the threat contained in these last 
words of Roswell. 

" Is there anything for me to do? " he asked. 

" Yes, you may dust off those books on the coun- 
ter. There's the duster hanging up." 

This was really Roswell's business, and he ought 
to have been at work in this way instead of reading; 
but it was characteristic of him to shift his duties 


upon others. He was not aware of how much timf 
had passed, and supposed that Mark would be 
through before Mr. Barker returned. But tbai 
gentleman came in while Roswell was busily engaged 
in reading. 

" Is that the way you do your work, Roswell ? " 
asked his employer. 

Roswell jumped to his feet in some confusion. 

" I thought I had better set the new boy to work," 
he said. 

" Dusting the books is your work, not his." 

" He was doing nothing, sir." 

" He will have plenty to do in carrying out par- 
cels. Besides, I don't know that it is any worse for 
him to be idle than you. You were reading also, 
which you know is against the rules of the store." 

Roswell made no reply, but it hurt his pride con- 
siderably to be censured thus in presence of Mark, 
to whom he had spoken with such an assumption of 
pcwer and patronage. 

" I wish I had a store of my own," he thought, 
discontentedly. "Then I could do as I pleased 
without having anybody to interfere with me." 

But Roswell did not understand, and there are 


plenty of boys in the same state of ignorance, that 
those who fill subordinate positions acceptably are 
most likely to rise to stations where they will them- 
selves have control over others. 

"I suppose you have not been to dinner," saivl 
Mr. Baker, turning to Mark. 

"No, sir." 

" You board in St. Mark's Place, I think you 

" Yes, sir." 

" Very well, here is a parcel to go to East Ninth 
Street. You may call and leave that at the address 
marked upon it, and may stay out long enough for 
dinner. But don't begone more than an hour in 

"No, sir." 

" I am glad that boy isn't my employer," thought 
Mark, referring of course to Roswell Crawford, who, 
bj the way, would have been indignant at such 
an appellation. " I like Mr. Baker a great deal 

Mark was punctual to his appointment, and in a 
little less than an hour reported himself at the store 
again for duty. 




Roswell pursued his way home with a general 
sense of discontent. Why should he be so much 
worse off than Richard Hunter, who had only been 
a ragged boot-black three years before ? The whole 
world seemed to be in a conspiracy to advance 
Richard, and to keep him down. To think he 
should be only earning six dollars a week, while 
Dick, whom he considered so far beneath him, was 
receiving twenty, was really outrageous. And now 
he had pushed a low dependent of his into Baker's 
stoie where Roswell was obliged to associate witb 
him ! 

Certainly Roswell's grievances were numerous. 
But there was one thing he did not understand, that 
the greatest obstacle to his advancement was himself. 
If he had entered a'vy situation with the determina- 
tion to make his services valuable, and discharge 

on, nicriARD hunter's ward. 175 

his duties, whatever they might be, with conscien- 
tious fidelity, he would have found his relations with 
his employer much more' agreeable and satisfactory. 

Mrs. Crawford still kept the house in Clinton 
Place, letting nearly all the rooms to lodgers. In 
this way she succeeded in making both ends meet 
though with considerable difficulty, so that she had 
not the means to supply Roswe 1 ! with the spending 
money he desired. Her nephew, James Gilbert, 
Richard Huntley's predecessor as book-keeper, still 
boarded with her. It will be remembered by tha 
readers of " Fame and Fortune," that this Gilbert, 
on being questioned by Mr. Rockwell as to his share 
in the plot against Dick, had angrily resigned hia 
position, thinking, probably, that he should lose it at 
any rate. 

It so happened that business was generally do 
pressed at this time, and it was three months before 
lie succeeded in obtaining another place, and then 
he was compelled to work for eight hundred dollars, 
or two hundred less than he had formerly received. 
This was a great disappointment to him, and did not 
help his temper much, which had never been very 
sweet. He felt quite exasperated against Dick, 


whom, very much against his wishes, he had *een 
the means of promoting to his own place. Indeed, 
on this point, he sympathized heartily with Roswell, 
whose dislike to Richard Hunter has already been 

"Well, mother," said Roswell, as he entered 
Mis. Crawford's presence, " I'm getting tired of 
Baker's store." 

"Don't say so, Roswell," said his mother, in 
alarm. " Remember how long it took you to get 
the place." 

"I have to work like a dog for six dollars a 
week," said Roswell. 

"Yes," said his cousin, with a sneer, "that's 
precisely the way you work. Dogs spend their 
time running round the street doing nothing." 

" Well, I have to work hard enough," said 
Roswell, " but I wouldn't mind that so much, if I 
didn't have to associate with low match boys." 

"What do you mean, Roswell?" asked his 
mother, who did not understand the allusion. 

" Baker hired a new boy to-day, and wh) do you 
think he turns out to be ? " 

" Not that boy, Ragged Dick ? " 


" No, you don't think he would give up Cousin 
James' place, where he gets a thousand dollars a 
/ear, to go into Baker's as boy ? " 

" Who was it, then ? " 

" He used to be a ragged match boy about the 
streets Dick Hunter picked him up somewhere, 
and got him a situation in our store, on purpose to 
spite me, I expect." 

As the reader is aware, Roswell was mistaken in 
his supposition, as Mark obtained the place on hi* 
own responsibility. 

" The boot-black seems to be putting on airs," said 
Mrs. Crawford. 

u Yes, he pretends to be the guardian of this 
match boy." 

" What's the boy's name ? " 

u Mark Manton." 

"If I were Mr. Baker," said Mrs. Crawford, "I 
BQOuld be afraid to take a street boy into my employ. 
Vory likely he isn't honest." 

" I wish he would steal something," said Roswell, 
not very charitably. " Then we could get rid of 
him, and the boot-black would be pretty well morti- 
fied about it." 



"He'll be found out sooner or later," said Mrs 
Crawford. " You may depend on that. You'd 
better keep a sharp lookout for him, Roswell. If 
you catch him in stealing, it will help you with Mr. 
Biker, or ought to." 

This would have comforted Roswell more, but thai 
he was privately of opinion that Mark was honest, 
and would not be likely to give him any chance of 
detecting him in stealing. Still, by a little manage 
ment on his part, he might cause him to fall under 
suspicion. It would of course be miserably mean on 
his part to implicate a little boy in a false charge; 
but Rosweli was a mean boy, and he was not scrupu- 
lous where his dislike was concerned. He privately 
decided to think over this new plan for getting Mark 
into trouble. 

" Isn't dinner ready, mother?" he asked, rather 
; x patiently. 

" It will be in about ten minutes." 

" I'm as hungry as a bear." 

" You can always do your part at the table," said 
ois cousin unpleasantly. 

" I don't know why I shouldn't. I have to work 
hard enough." 


*' You are always talking about your hard work. 
My belief is that you don't earn your wages." 

'• I should think it was a pity if I didn't earn ail 
dollars a week," said Roswell. 

" Come, James, you're always hard on Roswell," 
said Mrs. Crawford. " I am sure he has hard timea 
enough without his own relations turning against 

James Gilbert did not reply. He was naturally 
of a sarcastic turn, and, seeing Roswell's faults, was 
not inclined to spare them. He might have pointed 
them out, however, in a kindly manner, and then his 
young cousin might possibly been benefited ; but 
Gilbert felt very little interest in Roswell. 

Immediately after dinner Roswell took up his cap. 
His mother observed this, and inquired, " Where 
are you going, Roswell ? " 

" I'm going out to walk." 

" Why don't you go with your cousin ? ' 

James Gilbert had also taken his hat. 

" He don't want to be bothered with me," said 
Roswell, and this statement Gilbert did not take the 
trouble to contradict. 

" Why can't you stay in and read ? " 


"I haven't got anything to read. Besides I've 
been cooped up in the store all day, and I want to 
breathe a little fresh a r." 

There was reason in this, and his mother did not 
gainsay it, but still she felt that it was not quite safe 
for a boy to spend his evenings out in a large city, 
without any one to look after him. 

Roswell crossed Broadway, and, proceeding down 
Eighth Street, met a boy of about his own age in 
front of the Cooper Institute. 

"How long have you been waiting, Ralph?" he 

" Not long. I only just came up." 

" I couldn't get away as soon as I expected. Din- 
ner was rather late." 

"Have a cigar, Roswell? " asked Ralph. 

" Yes," said Roswell, " I don't mind." 

" You'll find these cigars pretty good. I paid ten 
cents apiece." 

"I don't see how you can afford it," said Roswell 
• Your cigars must cost you considerable." 

"I don't always bay ten-centers. Generally 1 
pay only five cents." 

1 Well, that mounts up when you smoke three oi 


four in a day. Let me see, what wages do you 

" Seven dollars a week." 

" That's only a dollar more than I get," said 

" I know one thing, it's miserably small," said 
Ralph. " We ought to get twice what we do. 1 ' 

"These shop-keepers are awfully mean," said 
Roswell, beginning to puff away at his cigar 

" That's so." 

" But still you always seem to have plenty of 
money. That's what puzzles me," said Roswell. 
" I'm always pinched. I have to pay my mother 
all my wages but a dollar a week. And what's a 
dollar?" he repeated, scornfully. 

" Well," said Ralph, " my board costs me all but 
a dollar. So we are about even there." 

" Do you pay your board out of your earnings ? ' 

" I have to. My governor won't foot the bills, sc 
I have to." 

" Still you seem to have plenty of money," per- 
sisted Roswell. 

"Yes, I look out for that," said Ralph Graham, 


"But I don't see how you manage. I might look 
out all day, and I wouldn't be any the better off." 

"Perhaps you don't go the right way to work," 
said his companion, taking the cigar from his mouth, 
and knocking off the ashes. 

' Then I wish you'd tell me the right way." 

" Why, the fact is," said Ralph, slowly, " I make 
my employer pay me higher wages than he thinka 
he does." 

" I don't see how you can do that," said Roswell, 
who didn't yet understand. 

Ralph took the cigar, now nearly smoked out, 
from his mouth, and threw it on the pavement. Ho 
bent towards Roswell, and whispered something in 
his ear. Roswell started and turned pale. 

" But," he said, "that's dishonest." 

"Hush!" said Ralph, "don't speak so loud. 
Oughtn't employers to pay fair wages, — tell me 


'* But if they don't and won't, what then ? " 

" I don't know." 

" Well, I do. We must help ourselves, that if 


" But," said Roswell, " what would be thought 
of you if it were found out ? " 

"There's plenty of clerks that do it. Bless you, 
it't, expected. I heard a man say once that he ex- 
pected to lose about so much by his clerks." 

" But I think it would be better to pay good 

•' So do I, only you see they won't do it." 

' l How much do you — do you make outside of 
yo^r salary ? ' ' asked Roswell. 

" From three to five dollars a week." 

" I should think they'd find you out." 

" I don't let them. I'm pretty careful. Well, 
what shall we do this evening ? There's a pretty 
good play at Niblo's. Suppose we go there." 

"I haven't got money enough," said Roswell. 

" Well, I'll pay for both to-night. You can pay 
another time." 

"All right!" said Roswell, though he did no* 
know when he should have money enough to return 
the favor. They crossed to Broadway, and walked 
leisurely to Niblo's Garden. The performance last- 
ed till late, and it was after eleven when Roswel 1 
Crawford got into bed. 




To <Io Roswell Crawford justice, the idea of taking 
money from his employer had never occurred to him 
until the day when it was suggested to him by Ralph 
Graham. The suggestion came to him at an unfor- 
tunate time. He had always felt with a sense of 
bitter injustice that his services were poorly compen- 
sated, and that his employer was making money out 
of him. Yet he knew very well that there was no 
chance of an advance. Besides, he really felt the 
need of more money to keep up appearances equal to 
Ralph Graham, and some other not very creditable 
acquaintances that he had managed to pick up. So 
Roswell allowed Ralph's suggestion to recur to his 
mind with dangerous frequency. He was getting 
familiar with what had at first startled and shocked 

But it was not at once that he brought his mind 


to the point. He was not possessed of much courage, 
and could not help fearing that he would get himself 
into a scrape. It needed a little more urging on the 
part of Ralph. 

" Well, Roswell," said Ralph, a few evenings after 
the conversation recorded in the last chapter, " when 
are you going to take me to the theatre? " 

" I didn't know I was going to take you at all," 
said Roswell. 

" Come, there's no use in crawling off that way. 
Didn't I take you to Niblo's last week? " 


"And didn't you promise to take me some night 
in return? " 

" I should like to do it well enough," said Roswell 
"but I never have any money." 

"You might have some if you chose." 

" The way you mentioned ? " 


"I don't like to try it." 

" Then you are foolish. It's what half the clerKs 
do They have to." 

" Do you think many do it ? " said Roswell, irreso- 



"To be sure they do," said Ralph, confidently 

" But I am sure it would be found out." 

"Not if you're careful." 

" I shouldn't know how to go about it." 

" Then I'll tell you. You're in the store alone 
Hjme of the time, I suppose." 

" Yes, when Mr. Baker and Mr. Jones are gone to 

" Where is the money kept ? " 

" There are two drawers. The one that has 
the most money in it is kept locked, and Mr. 
Baker carries away the key with him. He leaves a 
few dollars in another drawer, but nothing could be 
taken from that drawer without being missed." 

" Does he keep much money in the first drawer ? " 

"I expect so." 

" Then," said Ralph, promptly, "you must man- 
age to get into that." 

"But how am I to do it?" asked Roswell. 
" Didn't I tell you that it was kept locked, and that 
Mr. Baker took the key ? " 

" I can't say you are very smart, Roswell," said 
Ralph, a little contemptuously. 

" Tell me what you mean, then." 


" What is easier than to get a key made that will 
fit the drawer ? All you'll have to do. is to take an 
impression of the lock with sealing-wax, and carry i 
to a locksmith. He'll make you a key for two shil- 

" I don't know," said Roswell, undecidedly. "I 
don't quite like to do it." 

" Do just as you please," said Ralph ; " only if I 
carry you to the theatre I expect you to return the 

"Well, I'll think of it," said Roswell. 

" There is another way you can do," suggested 
Ralph, who was full of evil suggestions, and was 
perhaps the most dangerous counsellor that Roswell 
could have had at this time. 

"What is it?" 

" If you make any sales while you are alone you 
might forget to put the money into the drawer." 

" Yes, I might do that." 

' 4 And ten to one Baker would never suspect. Of 
course he doesn't know every book he has in his 
store or the exact amount of stationery he keeps on 

" No, I suppose not." 


"You might begin that way. There couldn't be 
any danger of detection." 

This suggestion struck Roswell more favorably than 
the first, as it seemed safer. Without giving any 
leciled answer, he suffered the thought to sink into 
lis mind, and occupy his thoughts. 

The next day when about the middle of the day 
Roswell found himself alone, a customer came in and 
bought a package of envelopes, paying twenty-five 

With a half-guilty feeling Roswell put this sum 
into his pocket. 

" Mr. Baker will never miss a package of enve- 
lopes," he thought. 

He sold two or three other articles, but the money 
received for these he put into the drawer. He did 
not dare to take too much at first. Indeed, he took 
a little credit to himself, so strangely had his ideas 
of honesty got warped, for not taking more when he 
might have done so as well as not. 

Mr. Baker returned, and nothing was said. Aa 
might have been expected, he did not miss the small 
Bum which Roswell had appropriated. 

That evening Roswell bought a couple of cigan 


with the money lie had stolen (we might as well call 
things by their right names), and treated Ralph to 

" There's a splendid play on at Wallack'e," said 
he 7 suggestively. 

" Perhaps we'll go to-morrow evening," said Ros* 

" That's the way to talk," said Ralph, looking 
keenly at Roswell. "Is there anything new with 
you ? " 

" Not particularly," said Roswell, coloring a little, 
for he did not care to own what he had done to his 
companion, though it was from him that he had re- 
ceived the advice. 

The next day when Roswell was again alone, a 
lady entered the shop. 

"Have you got La Fontaine's Fables in Eng- 
lish ? " she asked. " I have asked at half a dozen 
stores, but I can't find it. I am afraid it is out o\ 

" Yes, I believe we have it," said Roswell. 

He remembered one day when he was looking for 
a book he wanted to read, that he had come across a 
shop-worn copy of La Fontaine's Fables. It wa* 


on a back shelf, in an out of-the-way place. He 
looked for it, and found his memory had served him 

'■ Here it is," he said, handing it down. 

"lam very glad to get it," said the lady. How 
much will it be ? " 

" The regular price is a dollar and a quarter, but 
as this is a little shop-worn you may have it for a 

"Very well." 

The lady drew out a dollar bill from her purse, 
and handed it to Roswell. 

He held it in his hand till she was fairly out of 
the door. Then the thought came into his n nd, 
" Why should I not keep this money? Mr. B -ker 
would never know. Probably he has quite forge ;ten 
that such a book was in his stock." 

Besides, as the price of a ticket to the family cir- 
cle at Wallack's was only thirty cents, this sum 
would carry in him and his friend, and there w<" uld 
be enough left for an ice-cream after they had got 

The temptation was too much for poor Rot ^elL 
I call him poor, because I pity any boy whe fool 


ishly yields to such a temptation for the sake of a 
tf mporary gratification. 

Roswell put the money into his vest-p'vjket, and 
shortly afterwards Mr. Baker returned to the store. 

"Have you sold anything, Roswell? " he in- 
quired, on entering. 

"Yes, sir. I have sold a slate, a quire of note- 
paper, and one of Oliver Optic's books." 

Roswell showed Mr. Baker the slate, on which, as 
required by his employer, he had kept a record of 

Mr. Baker made no remark, but appeared to think 
all was right. 

So the afternoon passed away without any incident 
worthy of mention. 

In the evening Roswell met Ralph Graham, as 
he had got into the habit of doing. 

" Well, Roswell, I feel just like going to tne 
theatre to-night," were his first words of salutation. 

"Well, we'll go," said Roswell. 

" Good ! You've got money to buy the tickets, 
then ? " 

"Yes," said Roswell, with an air of importance. 
« What's the play ? " 


" It's a London play that's had a great run. Tom 
Hastings tells me it is splendid. You take me there 
to night, and I'll take you to the New York Circus 
some evening next week." 

This arrangement was very satisfactory to Ros- 
well, who had never visited the circus, and had a 
great desire to do so. At an early hour the boys 
went to the theatre, and succeeded in obtaining front 
seats in the family circle. Roswell managed to en- 
joy the play, although unpleasant thoughts of how 
the money was obtained by which the tickets were 
procured, would occasionally intrude upon him. 
But the fascination of the stage kept them from 
troubling him much. 

When the performance was over, he suggested an 

"With all my heart," said Ralph. "I feel 
warm and thirsty, and an ice-cream will cool my 

So they adjourned to a confectionery establishment 
nearly opposite, and Roswell, with an air of impor- 
tance, called for the creams. They sat leisurely 
over them, and it was nearly half past eleven -when 
Roswell got home. 


" What keeps you out so late, Roswell? " asked 
his mother, anxiously, for she was still up. 

" I was at the theatre." said Roswell 

" Where did you get the monev ? " 

" It's only thirty cents to the family circle," said 
Roswell, carelessly. " I'm tired, and will go right 
up to bed." 

So he closed the discussion, not caring to answer 
many inquiries as to his evening's amusement. His 
outlay for tickets and for the ice-cream afterwards 
had just used up the money he had stolen, and all 
that he had to compensate for the loss of his integ- 
rity was a headache, occasioned by late hours, and 
the warm and confined atmosphere at the theatre. 




It was with eager impatience that Mark awaited 
the return of Richard Hunter, to communicate to 
him his good luck in securing a place. The thought 
that he had secured it by his own exertions gave him 
great satisfaction. 

" I've got a place," were his first words, as Rich- 
ard entered the house. 

"Already?" asked RichaTd Hunter. "You 
have been quite smart, Mark. How dU you manage 
to obtain it?" 

Mark gave the particulars, whioh need not be 

" What kind of a store is it ? " 

"A bookstore." 

" What is the name of your employer ? " 

•' Baker.' 

" Baker's bookstore ! " repeated Richard torouig 


Lo Fosdick. " That is where our particular friend, 
Roswell Crawford, is employed." 

" Yes," said Mark ; " there's a boy there about t»ix- 
teen or seventeen. I believe that is his name." 

"lam not sure whether his being there will make 
it pleasant to you. Does he know that you are a 
friend of mine ? " 

"Yes," said Mark; "he inquired particularly 
about you, Mr. Hunter." 

" He's very fond of me," said Dick ;"I suppose he 
sent me his love." 

"No," said Mark, smiling; "he didn't speak aa 
if he loved you very much." 

" He doesn't like me very much. I am afraid 
when he gets to be president I shan't stand much 
chance of an office. He didn't try to bully you, — 
did he ? " 

" He said he could get me sent off if I wasn't 
careful to please him." 

" That sounds like Roswell." 

' He talked as if he was one of the firm," said 
Mark; "but when Mr. Baker came in, he began to 
scold him for not dusting the books. After that J 
didn't think so much of what he said." 

196 mark, the m^tch boy; 

"It's a way he has," said Fosdick. "He don't 
like me much either, as I got a place that he waa 
trying for." 

"If ho bullies you, just let me know," said 
Richard. " Perhaps I can stop it." 

"lam not afraid," said Mark. "Mr. Baker is 
there most of the time, and he wouldn't dare to 
bully me before him." 

Sunday morning came, — a day when the noisy 
streets were hushed, and the hum of business was 
stilled. Richard Hunter and Fosdick still attended 
the Sunday school, to which they had now belonged 
for over two years. They were still members of 
Mr. Greyson's class, and were much better informed 
in religious matters than formerly. Frequently — 
for they were favorite scholars with Mr. Greyson — 
he invited them home to dine at his handsome resi- 
dence. Both boys were now perfectly self-possessed 
on such occasions. They knew how to behave at the 
table with perfect decorum, and no one would have 
judged from their dress, manners, or conversation, 
that they had not always been accustomed to the 
same style of living. 

Mr. a/id Mrs Greyson noticed with pleasure the 


great improvement in their proteges, and always 
welcomed them with kind hospitality But there 
was another member of the family who always 
looked forward with pleasure to seeing them. This 
was Ida, now a young lady of thirteen, who had 
from the first taken an especial fancy to Dick, as she 
always called him. 

"Well, Mark," said Richard Hunter, on Sunday 
morning, "wouldn't you like to go to Sunday- 
school with me?" 

" Yes," said Mark. " Mother always wanted me 
to go to Sunday school, but she was so poor that she 
could not dress me in suitable clothes." 

" There is nothing to prevent your going now. 
We shall be ready in about half an hour." 

At the appointed time the three set out. The dis- 
tance was not great, the church being situated foui 
blocks farther up town on Fifth Avenue. They 
chanced to meet Mr. Greyson on the church steps. 

" Good-morning, Richard. Good-morning, Hen- 
ry," he said. Then, glancing at Mark, " Who ia 
your young friend?" 

"His name is Mark Man ton," said Richard 
' He is my ward." 


11 Indeed ! I had not thought of you in the char- 
acter of a guardian," said Mr. Greyson, smiling. 

" I should like to have him enter one of the 
younger classes," said Richard. 

" Certainly, I will gladly find a place for him. 
Perhaps you can take him in your class." 

" In my class ! " repeated Richard, in surprise. 

" Yes, I thought I had mentioned to you that Mr. 
Brnton was about to leave the city, and is obliged to 
gi^-e up his class. I would like to have you take it." 

' i But am I qualified to be a teacher?" asked 
Richard, who had never before thought of being in- 
vited to take a class. 

" I think you have excellent qualifications for 
such a position. It speaks well for you, however, 
that you should feel a modest hesitation on the sub- 

"I think Fosdick would make a better teacher 
than I." 

" Oh, I intend to draft him into the service also. 
I shall ask him to take the next vacancy." 

The class assigned to our friend Dick (we are 
gometimes tempted to call him by his old, familiar 
name) coasisted of boys of from ten to eleven years of 


age. Among these Mark was placed. Although he 
had never before attended a Sunday school, hia 
mother, who was an excellent woman, had given him 
considerable religious - tstruction, so that he waa 
about as well advanced 03 the rest of the class. 

Richard easily adapted himself to the new situation 
in which he was placed He illustrated the lesson 
in a familiar and oftentimes quaint manner, so that 
he easily commanded the attention of the boys, who 
were surprised when the time came for the lesson to 

"lam glad you are my teacher, Mr. Hunter," 
said one of the boys at the close of the service. 

" Thank you," said Richard, who felt gratified at 
the compliment. "It's new business to me, but I 
hope I shall be able to interest you." 

" Won't you come and dine with us? " asked Mr. 
Greyson, as they were leaving the church. 

Richard Hunter hesitated. 

'' I don't know if Mark can find his way home," 
he said with hesitation. 

"Yes, I can, Mr. Hunter," said Mark. " Don't 
trouble yourself about me." 

"But I mean to have him come too," said Mr 


Greyson. " Our table is a large one, as you know, 
and we can accommodate three as well as two." 

" D) come, Dick," said Ida Greyson. 

Richard was seldom able to resist a request pre- 
ferred by Ida, and surrendered at discretion. So, as 
usual, Fosdick walked on with Mr. Greyson, this 
time with Mark beside him, while Richard walked 
with Ida. 

" Who is that little boy, Dick? " asked the young 

" That's my ward, Miss Ida," said Richard. 

" You don't mean to say you are his guardian, 

" Yes, I believe I am." 

"Why," said the lively young lady, " I always 
thought guardians were old, and cross, and bald- 

"I don't know but that description will suit me 
after a while," said Dick. " My hair has been com- 
ing out lately." 

" Has it, really ? " said Ida, who took this serious- 
ly. "I hope you won't be bald, I don't think yoa 
would look well." 

" But I might wear a wig." 


" I don't like wigs," said the young lady, de- 
idedly. " If you were a lady now, you might 
wear a cap. How funny you'd look in a cap ! " 
and she burst out into a peal of merry laugh- 

" I think a cap would be more becoming to you," 
said Richard. 

" Do you ever scold your ward? " asked Ida. 

" No, he's a pretty good boy. He don't need 

"Where did you get acquainted with him 9 Have 
you known him long? " 

" He was taken sick at the door of our office one 
day. So I had him carried to my boarding-place, 
and took care of him till he got well." 

" That was very good of you," said Ida, approv- 
ingly. " What did he use to do ? " 

" He was a match boy." 

" Does he sell matches now ? " 

" No ; he has got a place in a bookstore." 

" What did you say his name was? " 


" That's a pretty good name, buf I don't like it so 
well as Dick." 


"Thank you," said Richard. "I am glad you 
like my name." 

At this moment they were passing the Fifth Ave- 
nue Hotel. Standing on the steps were two ac- 
quaintances of ours, Roswell Crawford and Ralph 
Graham. They had cigars in their mouths, and 
there was a swaggering air about them, which waa 
not likely to prepossess any sensible person in their 
favor. They had not been to church, but had 
spent the morning in sauntering about the city, 
finally bringing up at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, 
where, posting themselves conspicuously on the 
steps, they watched the people passing by on their 
way from church. 

Richard Hunter bowed to Roswell, as it was hia 
rule never to be found wanting in politeness. Ros- 
well was ill-mannered enough not to return the salu- 

" Who is that, Roswell ? " asked Ralph Graham. 

"It's a boot-black," said Roswell, sneeringly. 

" What do you mean ? I am speaking of that 
nice-looking young fellow that bowed to you just 

"Hia name is Hunter. He used to be a boot- 


black, as I told you ; but he's got up in the world, 
and now he's putting on airs." 

" He seems to have got into good company, at any 
rate. He is walking with the daughter of Mr. 
Greyson, a rich merchant down town." 

" He's got impudence enough for anything," sai 
Itoswell, with a feeling of bitter envy which he could 
not conceal. " It really makes me sick to see 
him strutting about as if he were a gentleman's 

" Like you," suggested Ralph, slyly; for he had 
already been informed by Roswell, on various occa- 
sions, that he was " a gentleman's son." 

" Yes," said Roswell, " I'm a gentleman's son, if 
I'm not so lucky as some people. Did you see that 
small boy in front? " 

' ' Walking with Mr. Greyson ? " 

" Yes, I suppose so." 

"What of him?" 

" That's our errand boy," 

"Is it?" asked Ralph, in some surprise. "He 
*eeins to be one of the lucky kind too." 

" He sold matches about the streets till a few 
weeks ago," said Roswell, spitefully. 



" He sold them to some purpose, it seems, for he's 
evidently going home to dine with Mr. Greyson " 

" Mr. Greyson seems to be very fond of low com 
{.•any. That's all I can say." 

" When you and I get to be as rich as he is, we 
can choose our own company." 

" I hope I shall choose better than he." 

"Well, let's drop them," said Ralph, who waa 
getting tired of the subject. "I must be getting 
home to dinner." 

" So must I." 

" Come round to my room, after dinner, and we'll 
have another smoke." 

" Yes, I'll come round. I suppose mother' 11 be 
wanting me to go to church with her, but I've got 
tired of going to church." 




Tiv o days afterwards, when Roswell as usual met 
nis fr*«ud Ralph, the latter said, with an air of im- 
portance : — 

"I've got news for you, Roswell." 

"What is it ? " inquired Roswell. 

" You've been unanimously elected a member of 
our club." 

"Your club ? !5 

" Yes ; didn't I ever mention it to you? " 


" Well, I believe I didn't". You see I intended 
to propose your name as a member, and not feeling 
certain whether you would be elected, I thought I 
had better not mention it to you." 

"What is the name of the club?" asked Ros- 
well, eagerly. 

" The Madison Club." 


" What made you call it that ? " 

" Why, you see, there's one fellow in the club 
that lives on Madison Avenue, and we thought thai 
would be an aristocratic name, so we chose it." 

Roswell liked whatever was aristocratic, and the 
name pleased him. 

" Did you say I was unanimously elected, Ralph ? " 
he asked. 

" Yes ; I proposed your name at our meeting last 
night. It was on account of that, that I couldn't 
meet you as usual. But hereafter we can go to- 
gether to the meetings." 

" How many fellows belong ? " 

" Twenty. We don't mean to have more than 
twenty-five. We are quite particular whom we 

• J Of course," said Roswell, in a tone of impor- 
tance. "You wouldn't want a set of low fellows 
like that Dick Hunter." 

" No. By the way, I've got somewhere your 
notification from the secretary. Here it is." 

He drew from his pocket a note adorned with a 
large and elaborate seal, which Roswell, opening, 
found read as follows : — 


" Mr. Rosweix Crawfoud. 

"Sir: — I have the honor of informing you that at th« 
last regular meeting of the Madison Club you were unani- 
mously elected a member. 

" Yours respectfully, 

"James Tracy." 

This document Roswell read with much satisfac- 
tion. It sounded well to say that he was a member 
of the Madison Club, and his unanimous election 
could only be regarded as a high compliment. 

"I will join," he said, pompously. "When ia 
the next meeting? " 

" Next Tuesday evening." 

" Where does the society meet? " 

In a room on Fourth Avenue. You can come 
round early, and we will go together." 

" All right. What do you do at the meetings? " 

" Well, we smoke, and tell stories, and have a 
good time. Generally there are some eatables pro- 
vided. However, you'll know all about it, when you 
join. Oh, by the way, there's one thing I forgot to 
tell you," added Ralph. "There's an initiation fee 
of five dollars." 


" A fee of five dollars! " repeated Roswell, so 

'• Yes." 

"What is it for?" 

"To defray expenses, of course. There's the 
rent, and lights, and stationery, and the eatables. 
They always, I think, have an initiation fee at 

" Are there any other expenses? " 

" Not much. There's only a dollar a month. 
That isn't much." 

" I don't know how I'm going to raise the five 
dollars," said Roswell, soberly. " I could manage 
the dollar a month afterwards." 

" Oh, you'll think of some way," said Ralph. 

" My mother wouldn't give it to me, so there's no 
use asking her." 

" Why can't you pay it out of your extra wages ? ' 
said Ralph, significantly. 

" I shouldn't dare to take such a large sum,' 1 said 
Roswell. " They would find me out." 

"Not if you're careful." 

" They don't keep but a few dollars in the drawei 
at one time." 


" But didn't you tell me there was another 
drawer? ' 

" Yes ; but that is always kept locked." 

" Open it then." 

" I have no key." 

" Get one that will fit it then." 

" I don't like to do that." 

" Well, it's nothing to me," said Ralph, "only I 
should like to have you belong to the club, and you 
can't unless you are able to pay the initiation fee." 

"I would like very much to belong," said Ros- 
well, irresolutely. 

" I know you would enjoy it. We have splendid 

" I'll see what I can do to raise the money," said 

" That's the way to talk. You'll manage to get 
it some way." 

It was a great temptation to Roswell. The more 
he thought of it, the more he thought he should like 
to say that he was a member of the Madison Club. 
Lie had a weak love of gentility, and he was per- 
Buaded that it would improve his social standing. 
But he did not wish to adopt the course recommended 


by Ralph if there was any other way of getting the 
money. He determined, therefore, first to make the 
effort to obtain the money from his mother on somo 
pretext or other. By the time he reached home, 
which was at an earlier hour than usual, he had ar- 
ranged his pretext. 

"I am glad you are home early," said Mrs. 

" Yes, I thought I'd come home early to-night 
Mother, I wish you'd let me have four dollars." 

"What for, Roswell?" 

" I want to buy a new hat. This one is getting 

Roswell's plan was, if he could obtain the four 
dollars from his mother, to make up the extra dol 
lar out of sales unaccounted for. As to the failure 
to buy the hat, he could tell his mother that he had 
lost the money, or make some other excuse. That 
thought did not trouble him much. But he was not 
destined to succeed. 

;< Iam sorry you are dissatisfied with your hat, 
Roswell," said Mrs. Crawford, "for I cannot poss'* 
bly spare you the money now." 

" So you always say," grumbled Roswell. 


" But it's true," said his mother. " I'm very 
short just now. The rent comes due in a few days, 
and I am trying hard to get together money enough 
to pay it." 

" I thought you had money coming in from youl 

"There's Mr. Bancroft hasn't paid me for six 
weeks, and I'm afraid I am going to lose his room- 
rent. " It's hard work for a woman to get along. 
Everybody takes advantage of her," said Mrs. Craw- 
ford, sighing. 

" Can't jou possibly let mo have the money by 
Saturday, mother? " 

" No, Roswell. Perhaps in a few weeks I can. 
But I don't think your hat looks bad. You can go 
and get it pressed if you wish." 

But Roswell declared that wouldn't do, and left 
the room in an ill-humor. Instead of feeling for his 
mother, and wishing to help her, he was intent only 
upon his own selfish gratifications. 

So much, then, was plain, — in his efforts to raise 
the money for the initiation fee at the club, ho 
could not expect any help from his mother. H« 
must rely upon other means. 


Gradually Roswell came to the determination to 
follow the dangerous advice which had been proffered 
him by Ralph Graham. He could not bear to give 
up the project of belonging to the club, and was wil- 
ling to commit a dishonest act rather than forego the 

He began to think now of the manner in which he 
could accomplish what he had in view. The next 
day when noon came he went round to the locked 
drawer, and, lighting a piece of sealing-wax which he 
had taken from one of the cases, he obtained a clear 
impression of the lock. 

"I think that will do," thought Roswell. 

At that moment a customer entered the store, and 
he hurried the stick of sealing-wax into his pocket. 

When the store closed, Roswell went round to a 
locksmith, whose sign he remembered to have seen 
in Third Avenue. 

He entered the shop with a guilty feeling at hi& 
heart, though he had a plausible story arranged for 
the occasion. 

" I want a key made," he said, in a business-like 
manner; "one that will fit this lock." 

Here he displayed the wax impression. 


" What sort of a lock is it ? " asked the locksmith, 
looking at it. 

" It is a bureau drawer," said Roswell. " We 
have lost the key, and can't open it. So I took the 
impression in wax. How soon can you let me have 

" Are you in a hurry for it? " 

"Yes; didn't I tell you we couldn't open the 

" Well, I'll try to let you have it by to-morrow 

" That will do," said Roswell. 

He left the locksmith's shop with mixed feelings 
of satisfaction and shame at the thought of the uso 
to which he was intending to put the key. It was a 
great price he had determined to pay for the honoi 
of belonging to the Madison Club. 




It (rets not until Saturday night that Roswell ob- 
tained the key. The locksmith, like tradesmen and 
mechanics in general, kept putting him off, to Ros- 
well 's great annoyance. 

As he did not get the key till Saturday night, of 
course there would be no opportunity of using it till 
Monday. The only time then was the hour in which 
Mr. Baker and Mr. Jones were absent, and Roswell 
was left alone. But to his great vexation, an old 
gentleman came in directly after Mr. Baker went 
out, and inquired for him. 

"He's gone to dinner," said Roswell. 

"I think I'll wait till he returns," said the 
Visitor, coolly sitting down in Mr. Baker's arm-chair. 

Roswell was in dismay, for this would of course 
prevent his using the key which he had taken so 
much trouble to obtain. 


"Mr. Baker is always out a good while," said 

" Never mind, I can wait for him. I came in 
from the country this morning, and shall not need to 
Btart back till four." 

"Perhaps," suggested Roswell, "you could go 
out and do the rest of your errands, and come back 
at two o'clock. Mr. Baker will be sure to be back 

" Who told you I had any more errands to do? " 
asked the old gentleman, sharply. 

" I thought you might have," said Roswell, some- 
what confused. 

"You are very considerate; but, as my business is 
over for the day, I will ask your permission to re- 
main till my nephew returns." 

So this was Mr. Baker's uncle, a shrewd old gen- 
tlemen, if he did live in the country. 

"Certainly," said Roswell, but not with a very 
good grace, adding to himself; " there'll be no 
chance for me to get the money to-day. I hope tha 
old fellow won't come round again to-morrow." 

The next day was Tuesday. In the evening th« 
club was to meet, so there was no time to lose. 


Fortunately, as Roswell thought, the coast was 

"Suppose the key won't fit?' : \ie thought with 

It would have been lucky for Roswell if the key 
had not fitted. But it proved to fit exactly. Turn- 
ing it in the lock, the drawer opened, and br fore him 
lay a pile of bills. 

How much or how little there might be Roswell 
did not stop to examine. He knew that a cus("omei 
might come in at any time, and he must do at 
once what he meant to do. At the top of the pile 
there was a five-dollar bill. He took it, slipped it 
hastily into his vest-pocket, relocked the drawer, 
and, walking away from it, began to dust the books 
upon the counter. 

He felt that he had taken the decisive step. He 
was supplied with the necessary money to pay the 
initiation fee. The question was, would Mr. Baker 
find it out ? 

Suppose he should, how would it be possible to 
evade suspicion, or to throw it upon some one 

" If I could make him think it was the matcb 

or, nicnARo hunter's ward. 217 

boy," thought Roswell, "I should be ki.Iing two 
birds with one stone. I must see what can be done." 

When Mr. Baker returned, Roswell feared he would 
gc to the drawer, but he did not seem inclined to do 

He just entered the store, and said, " Mr. Jones, 
I am obliged to go over to Brooklyn on a little busi- 
ness, and I may not be back this afternoon." 

" Very well, sir," said Mr. Jones. 

Roswell breathed freer after he had left the shop. 
It had occurred to him as possible that if the money 
were missed, he might be searched, in which case 
the key and the bill in his pocket would be enough 
to convict him. Now he should not see Mr. Baker 
again till the next day probably, when the money 
would be disposed of. 

Mr. Baker, as he anticipated, did not return from 
Brooklyn before Roswell left the store. 

Roswell snatched a hasty supper, and went over lo 
his friend, Ralph Graham's room, immediately after- 

"Glad to see you, Roswell," said Ralph; "are 
you coming to the club with me to-night?" 

" Yes," said Roswell. 


11 Have you got the five dollars ?'' 


' How did you manage it? " 

" Oh, I contrived to get it," said Roswell, who did 
Qot like to confess in what way he had secured pos- 
session of the money. 

" We'', it's all right, as long as you've got it. I 
was afraid you wouldn't succeed." 

" So was I," said Roswell. " I had hard work of 
it. What time do the club meetings begin ? " he 

" At eight o'clock, but I generally go round about 
half an hour before. Generally, some of the fellows 
are there, and we can have a social chat. I guess 
we'll go round at half-past seven, and that will give 
me a chance to introduce you to some of the members 
before the meeting begins." 

"I should like that," said Roswell. 

In a short time the boys set out. They paused 
before a small house on Fourth Avenue, and rang the 
bell. The summons was answered by a colored 

"Any members of the club upstairs?'' inquired 


" YbB, sir," said the attendant. " There's Mr. 
Tracy, Mr. Wilmot, and Mr. Burgess." 

" Very well, I'll go up." 

"Jackson," said Ralph, "this gentleman is Mr 
Crawford, a new member." 

"Glad to make jour acquaintance, sir," said 

" Thank you," said Roswell. 

" Jackson takes care of the club-room," explained 
Ralph, " and is in attendance to admit the members 
on club nights. Now let us go upstairs." 

They went up one flight of stairs, and opened the 
door of a back room. 

It was not a very imposing-looking apartment, being 
only about twenty feet square, the floor covered with 
a faded carpet, while the furniture was not particular- 
ly sumptuous. At one end of the room was a table, 
behind which were two arm-chairs. 

" That is where the president and secretary &,t," 
said Ralph. 

There were already three or four youths in the 
room. One of them came forward and offered bij 
hand to Ralph. 

" How are you, Graham ? " he said. 


" ILow are you, Tracy ? " returned Ralph 
" This is Mr. Crawford, who was elected a raembei 
at our last meeting. Roswell, this is Mi Tracy, 
our secretary." 

"I am glad to see you, Mr. Crawford," said 
Tracy. " I hope you received the notification of 
your election which I sent you." 

" Yes," said Roswell. "I am much obliged to 

" I hope you intend to accept." 

"It will give me great pleasure," said Roswell. 
11 You must have very pleasant meetings." 

"I hope you will find them pleasant. By the 
way, here is our president, Mr. Brandon. Brandon, 
let me introduce you to a new member of our society, 
Mr. Crawford." 

The president, who was a tall young man of 
eighteen, bowed graciously to Roswell. 

" Mr. Crawford," said he, " allow me, in the name 
of the society, to bid you welcome to our gay and 
festive meetings. We are a band of good fellows. 
who like to meet together and have a social time. 
We are proud to receive you into our raak*." 

"And I am very glad to belong," w»J Roswell, 


who felt highly pleased at the cordial manner iu 
which he was received. 

" You'd better go to the secretary, and enter your 
name in the books of the club," suggested Ralph. 
"You can pay him the five dollars at the same time. 
Here, Tracy, Mr. Crawford wants to enroll hia 

" All right," said Tracy ; " walk this way if you 
please, Mr. Crawford." 

Roswell wrote down his name, residence, and the 
store where he was employed. 

" I see, Mr. Crawford, you are engaged in literary 
pursuits," said the secretary. 

"Yes, for the present," said Roswell. "I don't 
think I shall remain long, as the book business 
doesn't give me scope enough ; but I shall not leave 
at present, as it might inconvenience Mr. Baker. 
What is your initiation fee?" 

" Five dollars." 

" I happen to have the money with me, I believe,' 
said Roswell. " Here it ; s " 

" Thank you; that is right. I will enter you aa 
paid The monthly assessments are one dollar, aa 
perhaps Graham told you." 


" Yes, I think he mentioned it. It is quite rea- 
sonable, I think," said Roswell, in a tone ^hich 
seemed to indicate that he was never at a loss foif 

" Yes, I think so, considering our expenses. You 
see we have to pay for the room ; then we pay 
Jackson's wages, and there are cigars, etc., for the 
use of the members. Have you ever before belonged 
to a club? " 

" No," said Roswell. " I have always declined 
hitherto (he had never before received an invitation) 
but I was so much pleased with what I heard of th 
Madison Club from my friend Graham, that I deter- 
mined to join. I am glad that you are particular 
whom you admit as members of the club." 

" Oh, yes, we are very exclusive," said Tracy. 
"We are not willing to admit anybody and every- 

Meanwhile there had been numerous arrivals, until 
probably nearly all the members of the club were 

'* Order, gentlemen ! " said the president, assum- 
ing the chair, and striking the table at the same 
time " The club will please come to order." 


There was a momentary confusion, but at length 
the members settled into their seats, and silence pre- 
vailed. Roswell Crawford took a seat beside RalpJb 




'The secretary will read the journal of the last 
meeting," said President Brandon. 

Tracy iose, and read a brief report, which was 
accepted, according to form. 

" Is there any business to come before the club ? ' 
inquired the president. 

"I would like to nominate a friend of mine as a 
member of the club," said Burgess. 

" What's his name? " inquired a member. 

"Henry Dmyton." 

" Will Mr. Burgess give some account of his friend, 
so that the members can vote intelligently on hia 
election ? " requested Brandon. 

" He's a jolly sort of fellow, and a good singer," 
said Burgess. " He'll help make our meetings 
lively. He's about my age — " 

" In his second childhood," suggested Wilmot. 


This produced a laugh at the expense of Burgess, 
who took it good-naturedly. 

"Has he got five dollars?" inquired another 

"His father is a rich man," said Burgess. 
"There will be no fear about his not paying hia 

"That's the principal thing," said Wilmot. "1 
second the nomination." 

A vote was taken which was unanimously affirm- 

" Mr. Drayton is unanimously elected a member 
of the Madison Club," announced the president. 
" Notification will be duly sent him by the secretary. 
Is there any other business to come before the 
club ? " 

As there appeared to be none, Brandon added, 
" Then we will proceed to the more agreeable duties 
vhich have brought us hither." 

He rang a small bell. 

Jackson answered the summons. 

" Jackson, is the punch ready ? " inquired the 

" Yes, sir," said Jackson. 



"Then bring it in. I appoint Wilniot and Bu.. 
gess to lend you the necessary aid." 

A large flagon of hot whiskey punch was brougnt 
in and placed on a table. Glasses were produced 
from a closet in the corner of the room, and it waa 
Berved out to the members. 

" How do you like it, Roswell? " inquired Ralph 

"It's — rather strong," said Roswell, coughing. 

" Oh, you'll soon be used to it. The fellows will 
begin to be jolly after they've drunk a glass or 

" Do they ever get tight ? " whispered Roswell. 

" A little lively, —that's all." 

The effect predicted soon followed. 

" Wilmot, give us a song," said Burgess. 

"What will you have?" said Wilmot, whose 
flushed face showed that the punch had begun to 
affect him. 

" Oh, you can give us an air from one of the 

" Villikens and his Dinah? '' suggested Tracy. 

" Very good." said Wilmot. 

Wilmot was one of those, who, with no voice at 


musical euc, are under the delusion that they are 
admirable singers. He executed the song in hia 
usual style, and was rewarded with vociferous 
applause, which appeared to gratify him. 

" Gentleman," he said, laying his hand upon hia 
heart, "lam deeply grateful for your kind appreci- 
ation of my — " 

" Admirable sinking, " suggested Dunbar. 

" Of my admirable singing," repeated Wilmot. 

This speech was naturally followed by an out- 
burst of laughter. Wilmot looked around him in 
grave surprise. 

"I don't see what you fellows are laughing at," 
he said, " unless you're all drunk." 

He sat down amid a round of applause, evidently 
puzzled to understand the effect of his words. 

After this, David Green arose, and rehearsed amid 
great applause a stump speech which he had heard 
at some minstrel entertainment which he had at- 

" How do you like it, Roswell? " again inquired 
Ralph Graham. 

"It's splendid," said Roswell, enthusiastically. 


1 Are you glad you joined ? " 

' Yes; I wouldn't have missed it for a good 
deal ' 

" knew you'd say so. Have your glass filled 
Here Jackson, fill this gentleman's glass." 

Rot veil was beginning to feel a little light-headed; 
but th( punch had excited him, and he had become 
in a de p*ee reckless of consequences. So he made 
no opp< ^ition to the proposal, but held out his glass, 
which was soon returned to him filled to the 

" Speech from the new member ! " called Dunbar, 
after a while. 

" Yes, speech, speech ! " 

All eyes were turned towards Roswell. 

" You'd better say something," said Ralph. 

Roswell rose to his feet, but found it necessary to 
Aold on to his chair for support. 

"Mr. President," commenced Roswell, gazing 
about him in a vacant way, " this is a great occa- 

" Of course it is," said Burgess. 

" We are assembled to-night — " 

" So we are. Bright boy ! " said David Green 


"lama gentleman's son," continued Rjswell. 

"What's the gentleman's name?" interrupted 

" And I think it's a shame that I should only be 
paid six dollars a week for my services." 

" Bring your employer here, and we'll lyncn 
him," said Tracy. " Such mean treatment of a 
member of the Madison Club should meet with the 
severest punishment. Go ahead." 

" I don't think I've got anything more to say," 
said Roswell. " As my head doesn't feel just right, 
I'll sit down." 

There was a round of applause, and Wilmot arose. 

" Mr. President," he said, gravely, " I have been 
very much impressed with the remarks of the gentle- 
man who has just sat down. They do equal credit 
to his head and his heart. His reference to his 
salary was most touching. If you will allow me, 1 
will pause a moment and wipe away an unbidden 
tear." (Here amid laughter and applause, Wilmot 
made an imposing demonstraticn with a large hand- 
kerchief. He then proceeded.) " Exouse my emo- 
tion, gentlemen. I merely arose to make the motion 
that the gentleman should furnish us a copy of his 


remarks, that they may be engrossed on parchment, 
and a copy sent to the principal libraries in Europe 
and America." 

Roswell was hardly in a condition to understand 
that fun was being made of him, but listened sober- 
ly, sipping from time to time from his glass. 

"The motion is not in order," said Brandon. 
* The hour for business has gone by." 

The punch was now removed, and cards were pro- 
duced. The remainder of the evening was spent in 
playing euchre and other games. Roswell took a 
hand, but found he was too dizzy to play correctly, 
and for the remainder of the evening contented him- 
self with looking on. Small snms were staked among 
some of the players, and thus a taste for gambling 
was fostered which might hereafter lead to moral 
shipwreck and ruin. 

This was the way in which the members of the 
Madison Club spent their evenings, — a very poor 
way, as my young readers will readily acknowledge. 
I heartily approve of societies organized by young 
people for debate and mutual improvement. They 
are oftentimes productive of great good. Seme of 
our distinguished men dite their first impulse t<? 


improve and advance themselves to their connection 
with such a society. But the Madison Club had no 
salutary object in view. It was adapted to inspire 
a taste for gambling and drinking, and the money 
spent by the members to sustain it was worse than 

Roswell, however, who would have found nothing 
to interest or attract him in a Debating Society, was 
very favorably impressed by what he had seen of the 
Madison Club. He got an erroneous impression 
that it was likely to introduce him into the society 
of gentlemen, and his aristocratic predilections were, 
as we know, one of Roswell's hobbies. 

It was about eleven when the club broke up ita 
meeting. Previous to this there was a personal diffi- 
culty between Wilmot and Tracy, which resulted in 
a rough-and-tumble fight, in which Wilmot got the 
worst of it. How the quarrel arose no one could 
remember, — the principals least of all. At last they 
were reconciled, and were persuaded to shake hands. 

They issued into the street, a noisy throng. Ros- 
well's head ached, the punch, to which he was not 
accustomed, having affected him in this way. Be- 
sides this he felt a little dizzy. 


" I wish you'd come home with me, Ralph,'' ha 
said to his friend. " I don't feel quite right." 

" Oh, you'll feel all right to-morrow. Your head 
will become as strong as mine after a while. I'm as 
cool as a cucumber." 

" It's rather late, isn't it? " asked Roswell. 

'* Hark, there's the clock striking. I'll count 
the strokes. Eleven o'clock ! " he said, after count- 
ing. " That isn't very late." 

Ralph accompanied Roswell to the door of hia 
mother's house in Clinton Place. 

" Good-night, old fellow ! " he said. " You'll be 
all right in the morning." 

"Good-night," said Roswell. 

He crept up to bed, but his brain was excited by 
the punch he had drank, and it was only after toss- 
ing about for two hours that he at length sank into 
a troubled sleep. 

OR, AICllAItV TIUS rEll'S WARD, 233 



When Roswell rose the next morning he felt 
cross and out of sorts. His head still ached a little, 
and he wished he w^re not obliged to go to the store. 
But it was out of the question to remain at home, so 
he started about half an hour after the usual time, 
and of course arrived late. 

" You are late this morning," said Mr. Baker. 
" You must be more particular about being here 
in good season." 

Roswell muttered something about not feeling 
quite well. 

Putting his hand into his pocket by chance, his 
fingers came in contact with the key which he had 
made to open the cash drawer. Just as he was pass- 
ing Mark, he drew it out and let it drop into the 
side-pocket of his jacket. So, if suspicion were ex- 
cited, the key would be found on Mark, not on him 


The critical moment came sooner than he had an> 

A Mr. Gay, one of the regular customers of the 
bookstore, entered a few minutes later. 

" Good-morning, Mr. Baker," he aaid. "Have 
you got a £ Tribune ' this morning? " 

"Yes, here is one. By the way, you are just 
the man I Avanted to see." 

" Indeed, I feel complimented." 

" Wait till you hear what I am going to say. You 
bought a copy of ' Corinne' here on Monday ? " 

" Yes." 

" And handed me a five-dollar bill on the Park 
Bank ? " 


"Well, I find the bill was a skilfully executed 

"Indeed ! I didn't examine it very closely. But 
I know where I took it, and will give you a good bill 
in exchange for it." 

" I locked it up lest it should get out, ' said Mr. 

He went to the drawer which Roswell had opened 
Roswell listened to this conversation with dismay 


He realized that he was in a tight place, for it waa 
undoubtedly the five-dollar counterfeit which he had 
taken, and paid to the Secretary of the Madison 
Club. He awaited nervously the result of Mr. 
Baker's examination. 

" Don't you find it?" asked Mr. Gay. 

" It is very strange," said Mr. Baker. " I placed 
it at the top of a pile of bills, and now it ia 

" Look through the pile. Perhaps your memory 
is at fault," said Mr. Gay. 

Mr. Baker did so. 

" No," he said, " the bill has disappeared." 

" Do you miss anything else ? " 

" No. The money is just five dollars short." 

" Perhaps you forget yourself, and paid it away to 
a customer." 

"Impossible; I always make change out of this 

" "Well, when you find it, I will make it right. I 
am in a hurry this morning." 

Mr. Gay went out. 

"Has any one been to this drawer?' 1 inquired 
Mr. Baker, abruptly. 


" You always keep it locked, — do you not? " said 
Mr. Jones. 

" And keep the key myself. Yes." 

"Then I don't see how it could have beeo 

" There was nothing peculiar about the lock. 
There might easily be another key to fit it." 

" I hope you don't suspect me, Mr. Baker ? " 

" No, Mr. Jones, you have been with me five 
years, and I have perfect confidence in you." 

" Thank you, sir." 

" I hope you don't suspect me, sir," said Roswell, 
boldly. "I am willing to turn my pockets inside- 
out, to show that I have no key that will fit the 

t,t "Very well. You may do so." 

Roswell turned his pockets inside-out, but of 
course no key was found. 

" How lucky I got rid of it ! " he thought. 

" Now it's your turn, Mark," he said. 

"I'm perfectly willing," said Mark, promptly. 

lie put his hand into his pocket, and, to liia 
unutterable astonishment and dismay, drew out a 


" I didn't know I had this in my pocket/ 1 he said, 

" Hand me that key," said Mr. Baker, sternly. 

Mark handed it to him mechanically. 

Mr. Baker went behind the counter, and fitted the 
key in the bck. It proved to open the drawer with 

" Where did you get this key ? " he said. 

" I didn't know I had it, sir," said Mark, earnest 
ly. ' I hope you will believe me." 

" I don't understand how you can hope anything 
of the kind. It seems very clear that you have been 
at my drawer, and taken the missing money. When 
did you take it ? " 

" I have never opened the drawer, nor taken your 
money," said Mark, in a firm voice, though his 
cheek was pale, and his look was troubled. 

"I am sorry to say that I do not believe you," 
said Mr. Baker, coldly. " Once more, when did 
you take the five dollars? " 

" I did not take it at all, sir." 

" Havu you lent the key to any one ? " 

" No, sir. I did nof, know I had it." 

" I don't know what to do in the matter," said the 


bookseller, turning to Mr. Jones, his assistant. "It 
seems clear to me that the boy took the missing 

"I am afraid so," said Jones, who was a kind- 
hearted man, and pitied Mark. " But I don't know 
when he could have had the chance. He is never 
left alone in the store." 

"Roswell," said Mr. Baker, "have you left 
Mark alone in the store at any time within two or 
three days ? ' ' 

Roswell saw the point of the inquiry, and deter- 
mined, as a measure of safety, to add falsehood to 
his former offence. 

" Yes, sir," he said, in an apologetic tone, " I left 
him in the store for two or three minutes yester- 

" Why did you leave him? Did you go out of 
the store? " 

" Yes, sir. A friend was passing, and I went out 
to speak to him. I don't think I stayed more thao 
two or three minutes." 

" And Mark was left alone in the store? " 

" Yes, sir I had no idea that any harm would 
come of it." 


Mark looked intently at Roswell when he uttered 
this falsehood. 

" You had better confess, Mark, that you took the 
money when Roswell was out of the store," said his 
employer. "If you make a full confession, I will 
be as lenient with you as I can, considering your 

"Mr. Baker," said Mark, quietly, more at his 
ease now, since he began to understand that there 
was a plot against him, " I cannot confess what is 
not true. I don't know what Roswell means by what 
he has just said, but I was not left alone in the 
store for a moment all day yesterday, nor did Ros- 
well go out to speak to a friend while I was 

" There seems to be a conflict of evidence here," 
said Mr. Baker. 

"I hope the word of a gentleman's son is worth 
more than that of a match boy," said Roswell, 

"To whom do you refer, when you speak of a 
match boy? " 

"To him" said Roswell, pointing to Mark 
" He used to be a vagabond boy about the streets. 


selling matches, and sleeping anywhere he could 
No wonder he steals." 

" I never stole in my life," said Mark, indignant- 
ly. " It is true that I sold matches about the streets, 
and I should have been doing it now, if it had not 
been for my meeting with kind friends." 

" As to his having been a match boy, that has uc 
bearing upon the question," said Mr. Baker. "It 
is the discovery of the key in his pocket that throws 
the gravest suspicion upon him. I must see hia 
friends, and inquire into the matter." 

" Of course they will stand by him," said Ros- 

" We may get some light thrown upon his posses- 
sion of the key, at any rate, and can judge for our- 

" I shall keep you employed until this matter is 
investigated," said Mr. Baker to Mark. " Here is a 
parcel of books to be carried to Twenty-Seventh 
Street. Come back as soon as they are delivered." 

Mark went out with a heavy heart, for it troubled 
him to think he was under suspicion. Theft, too, he 
had always despised. He wondered if Richard 
Hunter would believe him guilty. He could not 


bear to think that so kind a friend should think so ill 
of him 

But Mark's vindication was not long in coming. 
He had been out scarcely ten minutes when Roswell, 
on looking up, saw to his dismay Tracy, the secre- 
tary of the Madison Club, entering the store. Hia 
heart misgave him as to the nature of the business 
on which he had probably come. 

He went forward hastily to meet him. 

" How are you, Crawford? " said Tracy. 

" Pretty well. I am very busy now. I will see 
you, after the store closes, anywhere you please." 

" Oh," said Tracy, in a voice loud enough for Mr. 
Baker to hear, "it won't take a minute. The bill 
you gave me last night was a bad one. Of course 
you didn't know it." 

Roswell turned red and pale, and hoped Mr. 
Baker did not hear. But Mr. Baker had caught 
the words, and came forward. 

" Show me the bill, if you please, young gentle- 
man," he said. "I have a good reason for ack 

" Certainly, sir," said Tracy, rather surprised 
" Here it is." 


A moment's glance satisfied Mr. Baker that it wan 
the missing bill, 

" Did Roswell pay you this bill ? " he asked. 

" Yes, sir." 

" For what did he owe it? " 

' : I am the secretary of the Madison Club, and 
thi3 was paid as the entrance fee." 

"1 recognize the bill," said Mr. Baker. "I will 
take it, if you please, and you can look to him for 

"Very well," said Tracy, puzzled by the worda, 
the motive of which he did not understand. 

" Perhaps you will explain this," said Mr. Baker, 
turning to Roswell. "It seems that you took this 

Roswell's cofidence deserted him, and he *tood 
pale and downcast. 

" The key I presume, belonged to you." 

"Yes, sir," he ejaculated, with difficulty. 

;< And you dropped it into Mark's pocket, — thug 
meanly trying to implicate him in a theft whict yov 
bad yourself committed." 

Roswell was silent. 

" Uave you taken money before? " 


" I never opened the drawer but once." 

" That was not my question. Make a full con- 
fession, and I will not have you arrested, but shall 
require you to make restitution of all the sums you 
have stolen. I shall not include this bill, as it is 
now returned to my possession. Here is a piece of 
paper. Write down the items." 

Roswell did so. They footed up a little over six 

Mr. Baker examined it. 

" Is this all ? " he said. 

"Yes, sir." 

" Half a week's wages are due you, I will therefore 
deduct three dollars from this amount. The re- 
mainder I shall expect you to refund. I shall have 
no lurther occasion for your services." 

Roswell took his cap, and was about to leave the 

" Wait a few minutes. You have tried to impli- 
cate Mark in your theft. You must wait till his 
return, and apologize to him for what you have 
attempted to do.' ; 

" Must I dc this? " asked Roswell, ruefully. 

1 ' You must, ' said Mr. Baker, firmly. 


When Mark came in, and was told how he had 
been cleared of suspicion, he felt very happy. Ros- 
well made the apology dictated to him, with a very 
bad grace, and then was permitted to leave the store. 

At home he tried to hide the circumstances at- 
tending his discharge from his mother and his 
cousin; but the necessity of refunding the money 
made that impossible. 

It was only a few days afterwards that Mrs. 
Crawford received a letter, informing her of the death 
of a brother in Illinois, and that he had left her a 
small house and farm. She had found it so hard a 
struggle for a livelihood in the city, that she decided 
to remove thither, greatly to Roswell's disgust, who 
did not wish to be immured in the country. But 
his wishes could not be gratified, and, sulky and dis- 
contented, he was obliged to leave the choice society 
of the Madison Club, and the attractions of New 
York, for the quiet of a country town. Let us 
hope that, away from the influences of the city, his 
character may be improved, and become more manly 
and self-reliant. It is only just to say that he waa 
led to appropriate what did not belong to him, by the 
desire to gratify his vanity, and through the influ- 


ence of a bad adviser. If he can ever forget tha\ 
he is a the son of a gentleman," I shall have some 
hopes for him 




Towards the close of May there was a genera) 
holiday, occasioned by the arrival of a distinguished 
stranger in the city. All the store3 were to be 
closed, there was to be a turnout of the military, 
and a long procession. Among those released from 
duty were our three friends, Fosdick, Richard Hun 
ter, and his ward Mark. 

" Well, Dick, what are you going to do to-mor- 
row? " inquired Fosdick, on the evening previous. 

" I was expecting an invitation to ride in & 
barouche with the mayor," said Richard ; " but prob- 
ably he forgot my address and couldn't send it. On 
the whole I'm glad of it, being rather bashful and 
not used to popular enthusiasm." 

" Shall you go out and see the procession ? " con- 
tinued Fosdick. 


•'No," said Dick; "I have been thinking of 
another plan, which I think will be pleasanter." 

"What is it?" 

"It's a good while since we took an excursion. 
Suppose we go to Fort Hamilton to-morrow." 

"I should like that," said Fosdick. "I waa 
never there. How do we get there ? " 

" Cross over Fulton Ferry to Brooklyn, and there 
we might take the cars to Fort Hamilton. It's 
seven or eight miles out there." 

" Why do you say ' might ' take the cars? " 

" Because the cars will be crow T ded with excur 
sionists, and I have been thinking we might hire a 
carriage on the Brooklyn side, and ride out there in 
style. It'll cost more money, but we don't often 
take a holiday, and we can afford it for once. What 
you do say, Mark? " 

" Do you mean me to go? " asked Mark, eagerly. 

" Of course I do. Do you think your guardian 
would trust you to remain in the city alone ? ' ' 

"I go in for your plan, Dick," said Fosdick 
' What time do you want to start ? " 

" About half-past nine o'clock. That will give 
us plenty of time to go. Then, after exploring the 


fort, we can get dinner at the hotel, and drive where 
we please afterwards. I suppose there is sea-bathing 
near by." 

Dick's idea was unanimously approved, and by no 
one more than by Mark. Holidays had been few 
and far between with him, and he anticipated the ex- 
cursion with the most eager delight. He was only 
afraid that the weather would prove unpropitious. 
He was up at four, looking out of the window ; but 
the skies were clear, and soon the sun came out 
with full radiance, dissipating the night-shadows, and 
promising a glorious day. 

Breakfast was later than usual, a3 people like to in- 
dulge themselves in a little longer sleep on Sundays 
and holidays ; but it was over by half-past eight, and 
within a few minutes from that time the three had 
taken the cars to Fulton Ferry. 

In about half an hour the ferry was reached, and, 
passing through, the party went on board the boat. 
They had scarcely done so, when an exclamation of 
surprise was heard, proceeding from feminine lips, 
and Dick heard himself called by name. 

"Why, Mr. Hunter, this is an unexpected pleas 
ure. I am so glad to have met you.' : 


Turning his head, Dick recognized Mr. and Mrs. 
Clifton. Both had been fellow-boarders with him in 
Bleecker Street. The latter will be remembered by 
the readers of "Fame and Fortune " as Miss Pey- 
ton. When close upon the verge of old-maidenhood 
3he had been married, for the sake of a few thousand 
dollars which she possessed, by Mr. Clifton, a clerk 
on a small salary, in constant pecuniary difficulties. 
With a portion of his wife's money he had purchased 
a partnership in a dry-goods store on Eighth Avenue ; 
but the remainder of her money Mrs. Clifton had 
been prudent enough to have settled upon her- 

Mrs. Clifton still wore the same ringlets, and ex- 
hibited the same youthful vivacity which had char- 
acterized her when an inmate of Mrs. Browning's 
boarding-house, and only owned to being twenty- 
four, though she looked full ten years older. 

"How d'e do, Hunter?" drawled Mr. Clifton, 
upon whose arm his wife was leaning. 

"Very well, thank you," said Dick. "I see 
Mrs. Clifton is as fascinating as ever." 

" you wicked flatterer ! " said Mrs. Clifton, 
shaking her ringlets, and tapping Dick on the shoul 


der with her fan. " And here is Mr. Fosdick too, 
J declare. How do you do, Mr. Fosdick ? " 

" Quite well, thank you, Mrs. Clifton." 

"I declare I've a great mind to scold you for not 
coming round to see us. I should so much like to 
tear you sing again." 

"My friend hasn't sung since your marriage. 
Mrs. Clifton," said Dick. " He took it very much 
to heart. I don't think he has forgiven Clifton yet 
for cutting him out." 

" Mr. Hunter is speaking for himself," said Fos- 
dick, smiling. " He has sung as little as I have." 

" Yes, but for another reason," said Dick. "I 
did not think it right to run the risk of driving 
iway the boarders; so, out of regard to my land- 
lady, I repressed my natural tendency to war- 

"I see you're just as bad as ever," said Mrs. 
Clifton, in excellent spirits. " But really you must 
c:>me round and see us. We are boarding in West 
Sixteenth Street, between Eighth and Ninth Ave- 

" If your husband will promise not to be jealous " 
s/vid D.'ck 


11 I'm not subject to that complaint," said Clifton, 
coolly " Got a cigar about you, Hunter? " 

•'No. I don't smoke." 

" No, don't you though ? I couldn't get along 
without it. It's my great comfort." 

"Yes, he's always smoking," said Mrs. Clifton, 
with some asperity. " Our rooms are so full of 
tobacco smoke, that I don't know but some of my 
friends will begin to think I smoke myself." 

" A man must have some pleasure," said Clifton, 
not appearing to be much discomposed by his wife's 

It may be mentioned that although Mrs. Clifton 
was always gay and vivacious in company, there 
were times when she could display considerable ill- 
temper, as her husband frequently had occasion to 
know. Among the sources of difficulty and disa- 
greement was that portion of Mrs. Clifton's fortune 
which had been settled upon herself, and of which 
ihe was never willing to allow her husband the use 
Df a single dollar. In this, however, she had some 
justification, as ne was naturally a spendthrift, and. 
if placed in his hands, it would soon have melted 


" Where are you going, Mr. Hunter ? ' ' inquired 
Mrs Clifton, after a pause. 

" Fosdick and I have planned to take a carriage 
and ride to Fort Hamilton." 

" Delightful ! " said Mrs. Clifton. " Why can't 
we go too, Mr. Clifton?" 

" Why, to tell the plain truth," said her husband, 
" I haven't got money enough with me. If you'll 
pay for the carriage, I'm willing to go." 

Mrs. Clifton hesitated. She had money enough 
with her, but was not inclined to spend it. Still the 
prospect of making a joint excursion with Richard 
Hunter and Fosdick was attractive, and she in- 
quired : — 

" How much will it cost? " 

" About live dollars probably." 

"Then I think we'll go," she said, "that is, if 
our company would not be disagreeable to Mr. Hun- 

"On the contrary," said Dick. "We will get 
separate carriages, but I will invite you both to dine 
with us after visiting the fort." 

Mr. Clifton brightened up at this, and straightway 
became more social and cheerful. 


" Mrs. Clifton," said Richard Hunter, £i I believe 
I haven't yet introduced you to my ward." 

"Is that your ward ? " inquired the lady, lock- 
tog towards Mark. " What is his name? " 

11 Mark Manton." 

<: How do you like your guardian?" inquired 
Mrs. Clifton. 

" Very much," said Mark, smiling. 

" Then I won't expose him," said Mrs. Clifton. 
" We used to be great friends before I married." 

" Since that sad event I have never recovered my 
spirits," said Dick. " Mark will tell you what a 
poor appetite I have." 

" Is that true, Mark? " asked the lady. 

" I don't think it's very poor," said Mark, with 
a smile. 

Probably my readers will not consider this con- 
versation very brilliant ; but Mrs. Clifton was a sill v 
woman, who was fond of attention, and was incapa- 
ble of talking sensibly. Richard would have pre- 
ferred not to have her husband or herself in the 
company, but, finding it inevitable, submitted to it 
With as good a grace as possible. 

Carriages were secured at a neighboring stably 


and the two parties started. The drive we*s found to 
be very pleasant, particularly the latter portion, when 
a fresh breeze from the sea made the air delightfully 
cool. As they drove up beside the fort, they heard 
the band within, playing a march, and, giving their 
horses in charge, they were soon exploring the inte- 
rior. The view from the ramparts proved to be fine, 
commanding a good view of the harbor and the city 
of New York, nearly eight miles distant to the 

" It is a charming view," said Mrs. Clifton, with 
girlish enthusiasm. 

" I know what will be more charming," said her 

"What is it?" 

" A prospect of the dinner-table. I feel awfully 

"Mr. Clifton never thinks of anything but eat- 
ing," said his wife. 

" By Jove ! you can do your share at that," re- 
torted her husband not very gallantly. " You'd 
ought to see her eat, Hunter." 

" I don't eat more than a little bird," said Mrs 
Clifton, affectedly. " I appeal to Mr. Hunter." 


u If any little bird ate as much as you, he'd 
\<e sure to die of dyspepsy" said her husband. If 
the word in italics is incorrectly spelled, I am not 
responsible, as that is the way Mr Clifton pro- 
nounced it. 

" I confess the ride has given me an appetite 
also," said Dick. " Suppose we go round to the 
hotel, and order dinner." 

They were soon seated round a bountifully spread 
dinner-table, to which the whole party, not except- 
ing Mrs. Clifton, did excellent justice. It will not 
be necessary or profitable to repeat the conversation 
which seasoned the repast, as, out of deference to 
Mrs. Clifton's taste, none of the party ventured upon 
any sensible remarks. 

After dinner they extended their drive, and then 
parted, as Mr. and Mrs. Clifton decided to make a 
call upon some friends living in the neighborhood. 

About four o'clock Richard Hunter and his friends 
started on their return home. They had about 
reached the Brooklyn city line, when Fosdick sud- 
denly exclaimed : — 

" Dick, there's a carriage overturned a little way? 
ahead of us. Do you see it? " 


Looking in the direction indicated, Dick saw th*l 
Fjsdick was correct. 

"Let us hurry on," he said. " Perhaps we may 
be able to render some assistance." 

Coming up, they found that a wheel had come off, 
and a gentleman of middle age was leaning againsf 
a tree with an expression of pain upon his features, 
while a boy of about seventeen was holding the 

"Frank Whitney!" exclaimed Dick, in joyful 

To Frank Whitney Dick was indebted for the 
original impulse which led him to resolve upon 
gaining a respectable position in society, as will be 
remembered by the readers of " Ragged Dick ; " and 
for this he had always felt grateful. 

" Dick ! " exclaimed Frank, in equal surprise, 
"lam really glad to see you. You are a friend in 

" Tell me what has happened." 

" The wheel of our carriage came off, as you see 
Mid my uncle was pitched out with considerable 
violence, and has sprained his ankle badly. I wad 
wondering what to do, when luckily you came up." 


** Tell me how I can help you," said Dick, prompt- 
ly, "and I will do so." 

"We are stopping at the house of a friend in 
Brooklyn. If you will give my uncle a seat in youi 
carryall, for he is una^ie to walk, and carry him 
there, it will be a grea T favor. I will remain and 
attend to the horse and carriage." 

" With pleasure, Frank. Are you going to re- 
main in this neighborhood long? " 

" I shall try to gain admission to the sophomore 
class of Columbia College this summer, and shall 
then live in New York, where I hope to see you 
often. I intended to enter last year, but decided for 
some reasons to delay a year. However, if I am ad- 
mitted to advanced standing, I shall lose nothing. 
Give me your address, and I will call on you very 

"I am afraid I shall inconvenience you," said 
Mr. Whitney. 

. " Not at all," said Dick, promptly. "We have 
plenty of room, and I shall be glad to have an op- 
portunity of obliging one to whom I am indebted 
for past kindness." 

Mr. Whitney was assisted into the carriage, and 


they resumed their drive, deviating from theii 
course somewhat, in order to leave him at the houso 
of the friend with whom he was stopping. 

"I am very glad to have met Frank again," 
thought Dick : "I always liked hha." 




Mark remained in the bookstore on the same 
footing as before. lie was not old enough to suc- 
ceed to R. swell's vacant place, but Mr. Baker, as a 
mark of ha satisfaction with him, and partly also to 
compensate for the temporary suspicions which he 
had entertained of his honesty, advanced his wages a 
dollar a weei. He therefore now received four dol- 
lars, which yielded him no little satisfaction, as it 
enabled him to pay a larger share of his expenses. 

They were all seated in Richard Hunter's pleasant 
room in St. Mark's Place one evening, when Dick 
said suddenly : — 

" Oh, by the way, Fosdick, I forgot to tell yo« 
tt at I had a letter from Mr. Bates to-day." 

" Did you ? What does he say ? " 

" I will read it to you." 


Richard drew the letter from the envelope, and 
read as follows : — 

" My dear Mr. Hunter : — I have received your letter, 
reporting that you have as yet obtained no trace of my unfor- 
tunate grandson, John Talbot. I thank you sincerely for your 
kind and persistent efforts. I fear that he may have left New 
York, possibly in the care of persons unfit to take charge of 
him. It is a great source of anxiety to me lest he should be 
suffering privation and bad treatment at this moment, wh^n I, 
his grandfather, have abundance of worldly means, and have it 
in my power to rear him handsomely. I cannot help tr.eling 
that it is a fitting punishment for the cruel harshness wit? 
which I treated his mother. Now I am amassing wealtl 
but I have no one to leave it to. I feel that I have sraa. 
object in living. Yet I cannot give up the thought that mj 
grandson is still living. I cannot help indulging the hope 
that some day, by the kind favor of Providence, he may bf 
given back to me. 

" If it will not be too much trouble to you and Mr. Fos 
dick, I shall feel indebted if you will still continue on the 
watch for the lost boy. Any expenses which you maj 
Incur, as I have already assured you, will be most cheer 
Tally paid by your obliged friend and servant, 

" Hiram Bates.' 

While Kichard was reading this letter, Mark iiv. 
teued attentively. Looking up, Richard observed this 


" Did you ever meet with a boy named John 
Talbot. Mark?" he inquired. 

" No," said Mark, " not John Talbot." 

" Did you ever meet any boy named Talbot ! 
It is not certain that the name is John." 

" Talbot used to be my name," said Mark. 

" Used to be your name ! " exclaimed Richard, in 
surprise. " I thought it was Manton." 

" Some of the boys gave me that name, because 
there was a story came out in one of the story papers 
about Mark Manton. After a while I got to calling 
myself so, but my real name is Mark Talbot." 

"It would be strange if he should turn out to 
be the right boy after all, Dick," said Fosdick. 
" Where is the photograph ? That will soon settle 
the question." 

Richard Hunter opened his desk, and took out the 
card photograph which Mr. Bates had left with him. 

" Mark," he said, " did you ever see any one wh« 
looked like that picture?" 

Mark took the picture in his hand. No sooner 
did liis eyes rest upon it than they filled with tears. 

" That is my mother ' he said. " Where did yoa 
get it ? " 


" Your mother ! Are you sure? " 

" Yes ; I should know it anywhere, though i*. 
\ooks younger than she did." 

" Do you know what her name was, before she 
was married ? " 

"Yes; she has told me often. It was Irene 

"How strange ! " exclaimed Richard and Fosdick 
together. "Mark," continued Richard, "I think 
you are the very boy I had been in search of for 
several months. I had succeeded without know- 
ing it." 

"Please tell me all about it," said Mark. "I 
don't understand." 

" I have a great piece of good luck to announce 
to you, Mark. Your grandfather is a rich man, 
formerly in business in New York, but now a suc- 
cessful merchant in Milwaukie. He has no child, 
no descendant except yourself. He has been anx 
iously seeking for you, intending to give you all the 
advantages which his wealth can procure." 

" Do you think I shall like him ? " asked Mark, 

" Yes ; I think he will be very kind to you.''* 


" But he was not kind to my mother. Although 
he was rich, he let her suffer." 

" He has repented of this, and will try to make 
op to you his neglect to your mother." 

Mark was still thoughtful. "If it had come 
sooner, my poor mother might still have been alive," 
he said. 

" I think I had better telegraph to Mr. Bates 
to-morrow," said Richard. " The news will be so 
welcome that I don't like to keep it back a single 

" Perhaps it will be better," said Fosdick. " You 
will have to give up your ward, Dick." 

" Yes ; but as it will be for his good, I will not 

The next morning the following message was 
flashed over the wires to Milwaukie : — 

M Hiram Bates. 
" Your grandson Is found. He Is well, and In my charge 

" Richard Hunter." 

In the course of the forenoon, the following 
answer was received : — 


" Richard IIuntkr. 

"How can I thank you! I take the next train for T.en 

" Hiram Batep." 

On the afternoon succeeding, Mr. Bates entered 
Richard's counting-room. He clasped his hand with 

" Mr. Hunter," he said, " I do not know how to 
thank you. Where is my boy? " 

" I am just going up to the house," said Richard. 
" If you will accompany me, you shall soon see 

"lam impatient to hear all the particulars," said 
Mr. Bates. "Remember, I know nothing as yet. I 
only received your telegram announcing his dis- 
covery. When did you find him? " 

" That is the strangest part of it," said Richard. 
" I found him sick just outside the office door several 
weeks since. I took him home, and when he recov- 
ered let him get a place in a. bookstore ; but, having 
become interested in him, I was unwilling to lose 
sight of him, and still kept him with me. All this 
*vhile I was searching for your grandson, and had 
not the least idea that he was already found." 


" How did you discover this at last? " 

" B y his recognition of his mother's photograph 
It was lucky you thought of leaving it with me." 

" Is his name John ? " 

" He says his name is Mark, but for his last name 
ho had adopted a different one, or I should have 
made the discovery sooner." 

"How did he make a living before you found 
him? Poor boy!" said Mr. Bates, sighing, "I 
fear he must have suffered many privations." 

" He was selling matches for some time, — what 
we call a match boy. He had suffered hardships, 
but I leave him to tell you his story himself." 

" How does he feel about meeting me?" asked 
Mr. Bates. 

" You are a stranger to him, and he naturally feels 
a little timid, but he will soon be reassured when he 
gets acquainted with you." 

Mark had already arrived. As they entered the 
room, Mr. Bates said with emotion, " Is that he ? " 

"Yes, sir." 

" Come here, Mark," he said, in a tone which took 
away Mark's apprehension. " Do you know who I 
im? " 


"Are you my grandfather ? " 

" Yes, I have come to take care of you, and to see 
tfiat you suffer no more from poverty." 

Mr. Bates stooped down and pressed a kiss upon 
the boy's forehead. 

" I can see Irene's look in his eyes," he said. 
''It is all the proof I need that he is my grand 

It was arranged that in three days, for he had some 
business to transact, he should go back to Milwaukie. 
carrying Mark with him. He went round to Mr 
Baker's store the next morning with his grandson 
and explained to him why he should be obliged to 
withdraw him from his employ. 

"lam sorry to lose him," said Mr. Baker. " He 
is quick and attentive to his duties, and has given 
me excellent satisfaction ; but I am glad of his good 

"It gives me pleasure to hear so good an account 
of him," said Mr. Bates. " Though he will be under 
no necessity of taking another situation, but will for 
geveral years devote himself to study, the same good 
qualities for which you give him credit will insure 
his satisfactory progress in school." 




It was not long before Mark felt quite at home 
v ith his grandfather. He no longer felt afraid of 
him, but began to look forward with pleasant antici- 
pations to his journey West, and the life that was to 
open before him in Milwaukie. It was a relief to 
think that he would not now be obliged to take care 
of himself, but would have some one both able and 
willing to supply his wants, and provide him with a 
comfortable home. 

He felt glad again that he was going to school. 
He remembered how anxious his poor mother had 
been that he should receive a good education, and 
now his grandfather had promised to send him to the 
best school in Milwaukie. 

The next morning after their meeting, Mr. Bates 
tc.fc Mark to a large clothing establishment, and 
v&d him fitted out with new clothes in the most 


liberal manner. He even bought him a silver watch, 
of which Mark felt very proud. 

"Now, Mark," said his grandfather, "if there 
is any one that was kind to you when you were a 
poor match boy, I should like to do something to 
show my gratitude for their kindness. Can you 
think of any one? " 

"Yes," said Mark; "there's Ben Gibson." 

" And who is Ben Gibson? " 

" He blacks boots down on Nassau Street. When 
I ran away from Mother Watson, who treated me so 
badly, he stood by me, and prevented her from get- 
ting hold of me again." 

" Is there any one besides ? " 

" Yes," said Mark, after a pause; " there is Mrs. 
Flanagan. She lives in the same tenement-house 
where I used to. When I was almost starved she used 
to give me something to eat, though she was pool 

" I think we will call and see her first," said Mr 
Bates. "lam going to let you give her a huadre.'i 

" She will be delighted," said Mark, his eyes 


sparkling with joy. " It will seem a fortune to her. 
Let us go at once '" 

Very well," said his grandfather. "After, 
wards we will try to find your friend Ben." 

I forgot to mention that Mr. Bates was stopping 
at the Fifth Avenue Hotel. 

They took the University Place cars, which landed 
them at the junction of Barclay Street and Broad- 
way. From thence it was but a short distance to 
Vandewater Street, where Mark lived when first 
introduced to the reader. 

They climbed the broken staircase, and paused in 
front of Mrs. Flanagan's door. 

Mark knocked. 

Mrs. Flanagan opened the door, and stared with 
some surprise at her visitors. 

"Don't you know me, Mrs. Flanagan?" asked 

" Why, surely it isn't Mark, the little match 
boy? " said Mrs. Flanagan, amazed. 

" Yes, it is. So you didn't know me ? " 

"And it's rale delighted I am to see you lookin' 
10 fine. And who is this gentleman ? " 


" It is my grandfather, Mrs. Flanagan. I'm 
going out West to live with him." 

Mrs. Flanagan dropped a courtesy to Mr. Bates, 
who said, " My good woman, Mark tells me that you 
were kind to him when he stood in need of kind- 
ness " 

" And did he say that? " said Mrs. Flanagan, her 
face beaming with pleasure. " Shure it was little I 
did for him, bein' poor myself ; but that little he was 
heartily welcome to, and I'm delighted to think he's 
turned out so lucky. The ould woman trated him 
eery bad. I used to feel as if I'd like to break her 
ould bones for her." 

"Mark and I both want to thank you for your 
kindness to him, and he has a small gift to give you." 

" Here it is," said Mark, drawing from his pocket 
a neat pocket-book, containing a roll of bills. "You'll 
find a hundred dollars inside, Mrs. Flanagan," he 
gaid. " I hope they will help you." 

" A hundred dollars ! " ejaculated Mrs. Flanagan, 
hardly believing her ears. " Does this good gentle- 
man give me a hundred dollars ! " 

"No it is Mark's gift to you," said Mr. Bates. 

" It's rich I am with so much money," said the 


good woman. "May the saints bless you both! 
Now I can buy some clothes for the childer, and have 
plenty left beside. This is a happy day entirely. 
But won't you step in, and rest yourselves a bit ? 
It's a poor room, but — " 

"Thank you, Mrs. Flanagan," said Mr. Bates, 
"but we are in haste this morning. Whenever Mark 
comes to New York he shall come and see you." 

They went downstairs, leaving Mrs. Flanagan so 
excited with her good fortune, that she left her work, 
and made a series of calls upon her neighbors, in 
which she detailed Mark's good fortune and her 

"Now we'll go and find your friend, Ben Gib- 
son," said Mr. Bates. 

"I think we'll find him on Nassau Street," said 

He was right. 

In walking down Nassau Street on the east side, 
Mr. Bates was accosted by Ben himself. 

'• Shine yer boots? " 

" How are you, Ben? " said Mark. 

Ben stared in surprise till he recognized hia old 


" Blest if it aint Mark," he said. " How you'w 
gettin on ! " 

" Bm, this is my grandfather," said Mark. 

" Well, you're a lucky chap," said Ben, enviously 
" I wish I could find a rich grandfather. I don't 
believe I ever had a grandfather." 

"How are you getting on, my lad?" inquired 
Mr. Bates. 

"Middlin'," said Ben. "I haveD't laid by a 
fortun' yet." 

"No, I suppose not. How do you like blacking 

" Well, there's other things I mi^ht like bet- 
ter," said Ben, — "such as bein' a rich merchant; 
but that takes rather more capital than blackin' 

"I see you are an original," said Mr. Bates, 

"Am I?" said Ben. "Well, I'm glad of it, 
though I didn't know it before. I hope it aint any* 
thing very bad." 

" Mark says you treated him kindly when he lived 
about the street." 

" It wasn't much," said Ben. 


" I want to do something for you. What shall 1 

"Well," said Ben, "I should like a new brush. 
This is most worn out." 

" How would you like to go to Milwaukie with 
Mark, if I will get you a place there? " 

" Do you mean it? " said Ben, incredulously. 

" Certainly." 

" I haven't any money to pay for goin' out there." 

" I will take care of that," said Mr. Bates. 

"Then 1*11 go," said Ben, "and I'm much 
obliged to you. Mark, you're a brick, and so's 
your grandfather. I never expected to have such 
good luck." 

" Then you must begin to make arrangements at 
once. Mark, here is some money. You may go 
with Ben, see that he takes a good bath, and then 
buy him some clothes. I am obliged to leave 
you to dc it, as I must attend to some business 
in Wall Street. I shall expect to see you both at 
the Fifth Avenue Hotel at two o'clock." 

At two o'clock, Mr. Bates found the two boys 
awaiting him. There was a great change in Ben's 
appearance. He had faithfully submitted to tha 


bath, and bloomed out in a tasteful suit of clothes, 
selected by Mark. Mark had taken him besides to 
a barber's and had his long hair cut. So he now 
made quite a presentable appearance, though he felt 
very awkward in his new clothes. 

" It don't seem natural to be clean," he confessed 
to Mark. 

" You'll get used to it after a while," said Mark, 

" Maybe I will ; but I miss my old clothes. They 
seemed more comfortable." 

The next day they were to start. Een remained 
at the hotel with his friend Mark, feeling, it must 
be confessed, a curious sensation at his unusual po- 

They went to make a farewell call on Richard 

"Mr. Hunter," said Mr. Bates, "money will not 
pay you for the service you have done me, but I 
shall be glad if you will accept this cheque." 

Richard saw that it was a cheque for a thousand 

" Thank you for your liberality, Mr. Bates. * he 
said ; " but I do not deserve it." 


"Let me be the judge of that." 

k< I will accept it on one condition." 

" Name it, Mr. Hunter." 

CI That you will allow me to give it to the News- 
boys' Lodge, where I once found shelter, and ^he»e 
bo many poor boys are now provided for." 

" I will give an equal sum to that institution," 
said Mr. Bates, "and I thank you for reminding me 
of it. As for this money, oblige me by keeping it 
yourself. ' ' 

" Then," said Richard, " I will keep it as a char- 
ity fund, and whenever I have an opportunity of 
helping along a boy who is struggling upward as I 
once had to struggle, I will do it." 

"A noble resolution, Mr. Hunter! You have 
frund out the best use of money." 

Mark is now at an excellent school in Milwaukie, 
pursuing his studies. He is the joy and solace of 
his grandfather's life, hitherto sad and lonely, and ia 
winning the commendation of his teachers by his de- 
votion to study. A place was found for Ben Gibson, 
where he had some advantages of education, and ha 
is likely to do well. He has been persuaded by 


Mark to leave off smoking, — a habit which he had 
ibrmed in the streets of New York. The shrewdness 
winch his early experiences taught him will be likely 
to benefit him in the business career which lies be- 
fore him. 

Every year Mark sends a substantial present to 
Mrs Flanagan, under his grandfather's direction, and 
thu.» makes the worthy woman's life much more com- 
fortable and easy. From time to time Mark receives 
a btier from Richard Hunter, who has not lost his 
interest in the little match boy who was once his 

So the trials of Mark, the Match Boy, as far as 
they proceeded from poverty and privation, are at an 
end. He has found a comfortable and even luxurious 
home, and a relative whose great object in life is to 
study his happiness. I hope that the record of his 
struggles will be read with interest by my young 
readers, and shall hope to meet them all again in the 
aext volume of this series, which will be called: 






(Except the Sportsman's Club Series, Frank Nelson Series and 

Jack Hazard Series.). 

Each Volume Illustrated. j2mo. Cloth* 


The enormous sales of the books of Horatio Alger, Jr., 
show the greatness of his popularity among the boys, and 
prove that he is one of their most favored writers. I am told 
that more than half a million copies altogether have been 
sold, and that all the large circulating libraries in the country 
have several complete sets, of which only two or three vol- 
umes are ever on the shelves at one time. If this is true, 
what thousands and thousands of boys have read and are 
reading Mr. Alger's books ! His peculiar style of stories, 
often imitated but never equaled, have taken a hold upon the 
young people, and, despite their similarity, are eagerly read 
as soon as they appear. 

Mr. Alger became famous with the publication of that 
mdying book, "Ragged Dick, or Street Life in New York." 
It was his first book for young people, and its success was so 
great that he immediately devoted himself to that kind of 
writing. It was a new and fertile field for a writer then, and 
Mr. Alger's treatment of it at once caught the fancy of the 
boys. "Ragged Dick" first appeared in 1868, and ever since 
then it has been selling steadily, until now it is estimated 
that about 200,000 copies of the series have been sold. 

— Pleasant Hours for Boys and Girls, 


A writer for boys should have an abundant sympathy 
with them. He should be able to enter into their plans, 
hopes, and aspirations. He should learn to look upon life 
as they do. Boys object to be written down to. A boy's 
heart opens to the man or writer who understands him. 

— From Writing Stories for Boys, by Horatio Alger, Jr. 


6 vols. By Horatio Alger, Jr. #6.00 

Ragged Dick. Rough and Ready. 

Fame and Fortune. Ben the Luggage Boy. 

Mark the Match Boy. Rufus and Rose. 


4 vols. By Horatio Alger, Jr. $4.00 

Tattered Tom. Phil the Fiddler. 

Paul the Peddler. Slow and Sure. 


4 vols. $4.00 

Julius. Sam's Chance. 

The Young Outlaw. The Telegraph Boy. 


3 vols. By Horatio Alger, Jr. fo.ofl 

Frank's Campaign. Charlie Codman's Cruise 

Paul Prescott's Charge. 


4 vols. By Horatio Alger, Jr. $400 

Luck and Pluck. Strong and Steady. 

Sink or Swim. Strive and Succeed. 



4 vols. $4.o« 

Try and Trust. Risen from the Ranks. 

Bound to Rise. Herbert Carter 's k Legacy* 


4 vols. By Horatio Alger, Jr. $4.0© 

Brave and Bold. Shifting for Himself. 

Jack's Ward. Wait and Hope. 


3 vols. By Horatio Alger, Jr. $3-oo 

Digging for Gold. Facing the World, In a New World. 


3 vols. By Horatio Alger, Jr. $3.00 

Only an Irish Boy. Adrift in the City. 

Victor Vane, or the Young Secretary. 


3 vols. By Horatio Alger, Jr. $3.00 

Frank Hunter's Peril. Frank and Fearless. 

The Young Salesman. 


3 vols. By Horatio Alger, Jr. $3.00 

Walter Sherwood's Probation. A Boy's Fortune. 
The Young Bank Messenger. 


i voL By Horatio Alger, Jr. $1.00 

1 vol. By Horatio Alger, Jr. $1.00 




When I was sixteen years old I belonged to a composii 
don class. It was our custom to go on the recitation seat 
every day with clean slates, and we were, allowed ten min- 
utes to write seventy words on any subject the teacher 
thought suited to our capacity. One day he gave out "What 
a Man Would See if He Went to Greenland." My heart was 
in the matter, and before the ten minutes were up I had one 
side of my slate filled. The teacher listened to the reading 
of our compositions, and when they were all over he simply 
said : "Some of you will make your living by writing one 
of these days." That gave me something to ponder upon. 
I did not say so out loud, but I knew that my composition 
was as good as the best of them. By the way, there was 
another thing that came in my way just then. I was read- 
ing at that time one of Mayne Reid's works which I had 
drawn from the library, and I pondered upon it as much as 
I did upon what the teacher said to me. In introducing 
Swartboy to his readers he made use of this expression : 
"No visible change was observable in Swartboy's counte- 
nance." Now, it occurred to me that if a man of his educa- 
tion could make such a blunder as that and still write a 
book, I ought to be able to do it, too. I went home that very 
day and began a story, "The C 1 Guide's Narrative," which 
was sent to the New York Weekly, and came back, respect- 
fully declined. It was written on both sides of the sheets 
but I didn't know that this was against the rules. Nothing 
abashed, I began another, and receiving some instruction, 
from a friend of mine who was a clerk in a book store, I 
wrote it on only one side of the paper. But mind you, he 
didn't know what I was doing. Nobody knew it ; but one 


day, after a hard Saturday's work — the other boys had been 
out skating on the brick-pond — I shyly broached the subject 
to my mother. I felt the need of some sympathy. She 
listened in amazement, and then said : "Why, do you think 
you could write a book like that ?" That settled the matter, 
and from that day no one knew what I was up to until I sent 
the first four volumes of Gunboat Series to my father. Was 
it work ? Well, yes ; it was hard work, but each week I had 
the satisfaction of seeing the manuscript grow until the 
"Young Naturalist" was all complete. 

■ — Harry Cast lemon in the Writer. 


6 vols. By Harry Castlemon. $6.00 

Frank the Young Naturalist. Frank before Vicksburg. 
Frank on a Gunboat. Frank on the Lower Mississippi. 

Frank in the Woods. Frank on the Prairie. 


3 vols. By Harry Castlemon. $3-oo 

Frank Among the Rancheros. Frank in the Mountains- 
Frank at Don Carlos' Rancho. 


3 vols. By Harry Castlemon. $3-75 

The Sportsman's Club in the Saddle. The Sportsman's Club 
The Sportsman's Club Afloat. Among the Trappers. 


3 vols. By Harry Castlemon. $3-75 

Snowed up. Frank in the Forecastle. The Boy Traders. 


3 vols. By Karry Castlemon. $3-o< 

The Buried Treasure. The Boy Trapper. The Mail Carrier. 



3 vols. By Harry Casteemon. $3.00 

George in Camp. George at the Fort. 

George at the Wheel. 


3 vols. By Harry Casteemon. $3.00 

Don Gordon's Shooting Box. The Young Wild Fowlers. 
Rod and Gun Club. 


3 vols. By Harry Casteemon. m $7>-oo 

Tom Newcombe. Go-Ahead. No Moss. 


6 vols. By Harry Casteemon. $6.00 

True to His Colors. Marcy the Blockade-Runner. 

Rodney the Partisan. Marcy the Refugee. 

Rodney the Overseer. Sailor Jack the Trader. 


3 vols. By Harry Casteemon. $3-oo 

The Houseboat Boys. The Mystery of Lost River Canon. 
The Young Game Warden. 


3 vols. By Harry Casteemon. I3.00 

Rebellion in Dixie. A Sailor in Spite of Himself. 

The Ten-Ton Cutter. 


3 vol. By Harry Casteemon. #3- 00 

The Pony Express Rider. The White Beaver. 

Carl, The Trailer. 



Edward S. Ellis, the popular writer of boys' books, is 
a native of Ohio, where he was born somewhat more than a 
half -century ago. His father was a famous hunter and rifle 
shot, and it was doubtless his exploits and those of his asso-l 
ciates, with their tales of adventure which gave the son his 
taste for the breezy backwoods and for depicting the stirring 
life of the early settlers on the frontier. 

Mr. Ellis began writing at an early age and his work was 
acceptable from the first. His parents removed to New 
Jersey while he was a boy and he was graduated from the 
State Normal School and became a member of the faculty 
while still in his teens. He was afterward principal of the 
Trenton High School, a trustee and then superintendent of 
schools. By that time his services as a writer had become 
so pronounced that he gave his entire attention to literature. 
He was an exceptionally successful teacher and wrote a num- 
ber of text-books for schools, all of which met with high 
favor. For these and his historical productions, Princeton 
College conferred upon him the degree of Master of Arts. 

The high moral character, the clean, manly tendencies 
and the admirable literary style of Mr. Ellis' stories have 
made him as popular on the other side of the Atlantic as in 
this country. A leading paper remarked some time since, 
that no mother need hesitate to place in the hands of her boy 
any book written by Mr. Ellis. They are found in the lead- 
ing Sunday-school libraries, where, as may well be believed, 
they are in wide demand and do much good by their sound, 
wholesome lessons which render them as acceptable to parents 
as to their children. All of his books published by Henry 
T. Coates & Co. are re-issued in London, and many have 
been translated into other languages. Mr. Ellis is a writer 
of varied accomplishments, and, in addition to his stories, is 
the author of historical works, of a number of pieces of pop* 


ular music and has made several valuable inventions. Mr. 
Ellis is in the prime of his mental and physical powers, and 
great as have been the merits of his past achievements, there 
is reason to look for more brilliant productions from his pea 
in the near future. 


3 vols. By Edward S. Ellis. #3.00 

Hunters of the Ozark. The Last War Trail. 

Camp in the Mountains. 


3 vols. By Edward S. Ellis. $3.00 

Lost Trail. Footprints in the Forest. 

Camp-Fire and Wigwam. 


3 vols. By Edward S. Ellis. $3.00 

Ned in the Block-House. Ned on the River. 

Ned in the Woods. 


3 vols. By Edward S. Ellis. #3.00 

Two Boys in Wyoming. Cowmen and Rustlers. 

A Strange Craft and its Wonderful Voyage. 


3 vols. By Edward S. Ellis. 53.00 

Shod with Silence. In the Days of the Pioneers. 

Phantom of the River. 


1 vol. By Edward S. Ellis. $1.00 


3 vols. By Edward S. Ellis. $3.00 

Deerfoot in the Forest. Deerfoot on the Prairie. 

Deerfoot in the Mountains. 



NEITHER as a writer does he stand apart from the great 
pirrents of life and select some exceptional phase or odd 
combination of circumstances. He stands on the common 
level and appeals to the universal heart, and all that he sug- 
gests or achieves is on the plane and in the line of march of 
the great body of humanity. 

The Jack Hazard series of stories, published in the lat« 
Our Young Folks, and continued in the first volume of St. 
Nicholas, under the title of "Fast Friends," is no doubt 
destined to hold a high place in this class of literature. The 
delight of the boys in them (and of their seniors, too) is 
well founded. They go to the right spot every time. Trow- 
bridge knows the heart of a boy like a book, and the heart 
of a man, too, and he has laid them both open in these books 
in a most successful manner. Apart from the qualities that 
render the series so attractive to all young readers, they 
have great value on account of their portraitures of American 
country life and character. The drawing is wonderfully 
accurate, and as spirited as it is true. The constable, Sel< 
lick, is an original character, and as minor figures where will 
we find anything better than Miss Wansey, and Mr. P. Pip- 
kin, Esq. The picture of Mr. Dink's school, too, is capital, 
and where else in fiction is there a better nick-name than 
that the boys gave to poor little Stephen Treadwell, "Step 
Hen," as he himself pronounced his name in an unfortunate 
moment when he saw it in print for the first time in his les- 
son in school. 

On the whole, these books are very satisfactory, and 
afford the critical reader the rare pleasure of the works that 
are just adequate, that easily fulfill themselves and accora* 
plish all they set out to d©. — Scribuer's Monthly, 



... 6 vols. By J. T. Trowbridge. $7-25 

Jack Hazard and His Fortunes. Doing His Best. 

The Young Surveyor. A Chance for Himself. 

Fast Friends. Lawrence's Adventures. 

International Bibles 

Are known the world over for their clear print, scholarly 
Helps and absolutely flexible bindings. They comprise every 
variety of readable type in every style of binding and in- 
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the prophetic types and prophecies relating to Christ in the 
Old Testament printed in red, and the words of Christ in 
the New Testament printed in red ; also Christian Workers' 
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jects or the Theme of Salvation are indexed and marked 
in red. 

For sale by all booksellers. Catalog of Books and Biblej 
mailed on application to the publishers. 


Winston Building 

A Veritable "Arabian Nights" of Entertainment 
Containing 168 Complete Illustrated Stories. 




told for 


Rev. Jesse Lyman Hurlbut, D.D. 

noble men and women of the Bible are made to appear as 
living, acting people. The book is an original work, and 
in no sense an imitation. It has been in preparation for 
a number of vears. 

THE DISTINGUISHED AUTHOR.— Dr. Hurlbut has long been asso- 
ciated with, and director of, the Sunday School work of 
one of the largest denominations, and he has been more 
closely associated with the detail work of the Chautauqua 
movement than has any other man. He is also well known 
as a writer. 

There are sixteen pictures in color prepared for this work 
by the distinguished artist, W. H. Margetson, and repro- 
duced with the beauty and attractiveness of the artist's 
original work. There are also nearly 200 half-tone en- 
gravings in this remarkable book, which is as original in 
the selection of its illustrations as it is in its stories. 

"It is a needed and original work. Not an imitation." — Christian Ad- 
vocate, New York. 

"Written in such a style as to fascinate and hold the interest of 
child or man." — Rev. F. E. Clark, Pres. Society of Christian Endeavor. 

"It is a beautiful book. I hope every family in the land will secure 
'Hurlbut's Story of the Bible.' " — General O. O. Howard. 

"The best book of its kind, and that kind the most important." — 
Rev. James A. Worden, Presbyterian B'd of Pub. and S. S. Work. 

"I like very much the vocabulary you have used, and I can see how 
careful yo'u have been in choosing understandable words." — Mr. Philip 
E. Howard, Sunday-School Times, Philadelphia. 

"It is the completest and best thing of the kind I have seen. The 
book is splendidly illustrated." Marian Lawrance, General Secretary 
International Sunday-School Association. 

"Many will be drawn to the Bible who otherwise mit*ht look upon it as 
only adapted for older people." — Hon. David J. Brewer, Justice of 
the Supreme Court of the United States. 
8vo, cloth. 750 pages. 16 color plates. 162 half-tone engravings. Net $1.50 



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