“If Number 91 is unemployed, send him to No. 75, Windsor Hotel, at eleven o’clock.”

This message came to the telegraph office at which Paul was enrolled.

The superintendent called him to the desk.

“Here is a call for you, Number 91,” he said. “It comes from a lady, Mrs. Louisa Holbrook. Do you know her?”

“No, sir.”

“Are you familiar with the name?”

“No, sir; I never heard it before.”

“She has evidently heard of you. It is now ten o’clock. At half past ten you may start for the Windsor Hotel. If you arrive there before eleven, you may wait till the hour, and then report at the room indicated.”

“Yes, sir.”

Paul arrived at the Windsor Hotel at ten minutes before the hour. This magnificent hostelry is situated on Fifth Avenue, and occupies the entire block between Forty Sixth and Forty Seventh Streets. It is built of brick, and has an air of quiet elegance which makes it a favorite with ladies and others who like to be spared the noise and bustle which attend other prominent hotels in the city. On the corner just above stands the luxurious home of Jay Gould, the railroad king. A few blocks above is the great Catholic Cathedral, destined one day to rank among the famous churches of the world. Still further up, on the opposite side, are the stately houses occupied by the Vanderbilt family. These things, however, did not occur to Paul, for he was too familiar with the leading buildings on the avenue to give them a special thought, further than to reflect, “The men who occupy these fine houses were once poor boys—many of them. I wonder whether it will ever be my fortune to live as handsomely!”

It was only a thought, not seriously entertained. Paul wanted to rise, but an active, healthy boy seldom thinks of luxury, or craves it. That comes later, after he has attained manhood.

Paul entered the hotel, and, going up to the office, expressed a wish to see Mrs. Louisa Holbrook.

“Were you sent for?” asked the clerk.

“Yes, sir.”

“Then you may go up at once. Here”—to a bell boy—“show this boy up to No. 75, Mrs. Holbrook’s room.”

Though the room was only on the second floor, Paul followed the bell boy into the elevator. At the second landing he got out, and followed the hotel attendant to the door of a room fronting on the avenue. The bell boy knocked, and a voice said, “Come in!”

“It is a telegraph boy, ma’am,” said the servant.

“He may come in, and you can go.”

Paul entered the room—a large and handsome one—and found himself in presence of a lady not much over thirty years of age, with a pleasant face and manner.

“You are Number 91?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I suppose you are surprised that I should have sent specially for you,” the lady said, with a smile.

“I wondered how you came to hear of me,” said Paul.

“That is easily explained. I am a cousin of Mr. Cunningham.”

Paul’s face brightened. It was pleasant to serve any one connected with a family from which he had received so much kindness.

“That explains it,” he said; “all the family have treated me very kindly.”

“I assure you that you stand very high in their estimation,” said Mrs. Holbrook, smiling once more. “My young cousin Jennie was here yesterday, and on learning the nature of my business urged me to send for you.”

“I am very much obliged to Miss Jennie,” said Paul with genuine pleasure, for though too young to be in love, he liked Jennie Cunningham better than any girl he had ever seen.

“It is time I explained the errand on which I propose to employ you,” said Mrs. Holbrook. “You must know, then, that I have an old aunt living at the village of Rockville, in Connecticut. She is advanced in years, and possessed of large wealth. She has a comfortable home, and prefers to keep house rather than live with any of her relatives. She does not live alone, however. She employs a housekeeper, a Mrs. Mercer, whose son, a young man of twenty five, also finds employment on the place. This woman, I have reason to think, is an artful person, who, knowing my aunt to be wealthy, has ingratiated herself with her, and is evidently scheming for her property, or at any rate a handsome share of it. If it were any person who had a rightful claim, I think I may say for myself and my cousins that we would not interfere in the matter, as we are all moderately rich. But we decidedly object to our aunt’s falling into the hands of an artful adventurer like this housekeeper. You are wondering, no doubt, how all this concerns you. I will come to that. Mrs. Cunningham tells me you are a sharp, shrewd boy, and I propose to send you down as a confidential messenger, to look about you, judge of the progress the housekeeper has made in her designs, and, if you see anything wrong, apprise us, or, if there is any chance, open my aunt’s eyes to the real character of the persons she has trusted.”

Paul listened to Mrs. Holbrook’s statement with attention. Some difficulties, however, presented themselves to his mind.

“Unless I am in the house,” he said, “I shall find it difficult to carry out your instructions.”

“You will be in the house. I shall give you a letter to my aunt, saying that you are a boy in whom I am interested, and that I am anxious to have you pass a few weeks in the country. Can you drive a horse?”

“There is nothing I like better,” answered Paul, promptly.

“Can you take care of a horse?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“How did you acquire this knowledge in the city?”

“Not far from where I live is a stable, kept by a man whom I know well; I have been in there a good deal, and helped him when he needed it. Sometimes I would drive out for him.”

Mrs. Holbrook nodded approvingly. “I am glad to hear it,” she said. “My aunt is fond of riding, and has a horse and carriage. She can make you useful in that way, and also as her secretary if she needs any one to write for her, or read to her. I suppose you are equal to such duties?”

“Yes, ma’am. I am not to go as a telegraph boy, I presume?”

“No; have you another suit?”

“Yes, but I am afraid it is not good enough.”

“Then I will fit you out. I may as well write a letter first to my aunt, and then I will see about proper clothes for you. I think I will go to Brokaw Brothers. Can you go with me at once?”

Paul answered in the affirmative.

“What is your name?”

“Paul Parton.”

“A very good name. That will do quite nicely.”

Mrs. Holbrook sat down at the desk, and wrote the following letter:

“My Dear Aunt:

“I am taking a liberty in sending you a boy in whom I am interested, with the request that you will give him a home for a few weeks, if he should be contented. I know you have a large house and plenty of room. I think a young companion will help enliven the house. Paul Parton (that is his name) will be happy to be of service to you in any way. He understands horses, and will drive you out any time, harness and unharness, read to you or write for you, should you require it. I ask you to receive him as a guest, for my sake, but to make him useful.

“I hope, my dear aunt, you are in comfortable health, and in a condition to enjoy life, notwithstanding your advanced years.

“Your affectionate niece,
“Louisa Holbrook.”

“There,” said Mrs. Holbrook, after reading the letter to Paul, “I think this will secure you an entrance into my aunt’s house, and should it be read by the housekeeper, as is likely to be the case, it will tell her nothing. Now we will go out and see about getting you a supply of clothes.”