Ben had been long enough in the city to know where to go for his purchases. He laid in a great stock of underclothing of excellent quality, and bought a steamer trunk, as instructed by Mrs. Harcourt.

All the articles were sent to the hotel, and in the evening he packed the trunk. He did not understand why he was bidden to buy a steamer trunk, as those of the ordinary kind were more capacious.

The next morning after breakfast Mrs. Harcourt said suddenly, “Where do your friends live? In the city?”

“No; in the country.”

“Have you parents?”

“Yes, a mother and a stepfather.”

“Where do they live?”

“In Wrayburn.”

“Where is that?”

“In New Hampshire, near the Massachusetts line.” “Do you write to your mother?”

“Yes.”

“Have you written since you met me?”

“No.”

“Then I wish to caution you not to mention our mutual arrangements.”

“Perhaps you had better tell me what to write,” suggested Ben.

“A good thought. You may say that you have fallen in with a lady who is disposed to befriend you, and who will provide for you for the present.”

“I will do so.”

“Don’t mention any names, however.”

“Very well.”

Ben would like to have asked why, but did not feel at liberty to do so.

“Are we going to stay here—in New York?” he asked.

“Not long. I can’t tell how long.”

“How am I to spend my time while I am here?”

“As you please. I only exact that you shall be here at meals. Of course I don’t want you to get into any scrapes.”

“I can promise that,” said Ben earnestly.

“I believe you. You look like a steady boy.” “Do you wish me to go anywhere with you this morning?”

“No; you can do as you please.”

“Thank you.”

“By the way, you bought the underclothing yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“I will look at it to see if I approve your choice.”

Mrs. Harcourt looked over the trunk, and expressed her satisfaction.

“It is quite right,” she said. “I was afraid you would not buy articles of good quality. Your present position is very different from that in which I found you, and I wish you to adapt yourself to it.”

Ben went out, and when walking through Union Square he met Mr. Wilkins, the dramatic author.

“Is that you, Ben?” asked Wilkins in astonishment.

“I believe so, Mr. Wilkins,” smiled Ben.

“I can hardly believe my eyes. When I last saw you, you were selling papers on the Bowery. Now you look like a young prince. Is it possible you have found the business so profitable?”

“No, Mr. Wilkins, I have had a stroke of luck.” “That is easy to see, but of what kind?”

“I have been adopted—for a time at least—by a rich lady.”

“How did that happen?”

“She saw me selling papers on the Bowery only yesterday morning, bought them all, took me to the Fifth Avenue Hotel, and gave me the suit I am wearing besides a trunk full of underwear. I am boarding there with her.”

“That is wonderful. Would it do for me to call?”

“I think not. She wishes me to pass as her son, and doesn’t wish me to say much about our arrangements.”

“What plans has she for you?”

“I don’t know yet, but I think we shall leave the city soon.”

“I am glad you are able to give up selling papers. I hoped my play would be brought out by this time, but there is a hitch somewhere. I should have offered you your old part.”

“And I should have been glad to accept it, but I don’t think I should feel at liberty to do so under present circumstances.”

It occurred to Ben that he would visit Prospect Park in Brooklyn. Though he had spent some months in New York he had only twice crossed the ferry to the large city across the East River. He entered one of the Fulton Ferry boats, and pushed through to the second cabin.

Crouching in the corner was a boy about a year younger than himself, whose sad face and listless air indicated that he was in some trouble. A second glance enabled Ben to identify him as a brother newsboy with whom he had a slight acquaintance.

“Is it you, Frank?” he said, taking a seat beside the boy.

Frank Mordaunt gave him a puzzled look.

“I don’t remember you,” he said slowly.

“And yet we have sold papers together,” said Ben with a smile. “Don’t you remember Ben Bruce?”

“Are you Ben?” said the boy, eyeing Ben’s fine suit in amazement.

“Yes, Frank.”

“Where’d you get that suit?”

“The fact is, Frank, I have fallen in with a rich lady, who has adopted me.”

“When did all this happen?”

“Yesterday morning.”

“Then you don’t sell papers any more?”

“No; I am staying at the Fifth Avenue Hotel.”

“You’re in luck, then?” “And you look out of luck,” said Ben.

“You are right there. My mother is to be turned out of her rooms to-morrow unless I can raise five dollars to pay the rent.”

“Where do you live?”

“In Brooklyn.”

“Have you only a mother?”

“I have a little brother besides. His name is Alvin. He is nine years old.”

“And are you the only one of the family that is earning any money?”

“No; my mother takes in sewing, but she can earn but little. I’ll tell you how we fell behind. I was sick of a cold two weeks since, and for a week I earned nothing.”

“I remember missing you.”

“So that we were not able to save up money for the rent.”

“Won’t your landlord wait?”

“No; he is a hard man. Besides, there is another family wanting our rooms, and ready to move in when we move out. But for that he would perhaps wait for us.”

“It is pretty hard luck.”

“That’s so. You see we can’t go in anywhere else unless we have the rent money in advance. So I don’t know what we shall do.” “I do.”

Frank Mordaunt looked at Ben inquiringly.

“I am going to supply you with the money. It is five dollars, isn’t it?”

“Do you mean it?” said Frank hopefully.

By way of answer Ben drew from his pocket a five-dollar bill and handed it to Frank.

“But, Ben, can you spare this?”

“Yes, easily. The lady who has adopted me gave me ten dollars yesterday, and says I shall have a weekly allowance of fifteen dollars just for spending money. All my bills will be paid separately.”

“It will be a godsend to us, Ben. How kind you are!”

“I ought to be, as I have been so favored myself. I hope you will see better days before long.”

“It may be so. My mother may some day inherit a large sum, in case a cousin of mine dies. I would rather he would live, but a small part of what we would then have would make us happy now.”

“Give me your address, Frank, and I may write to you when I am away from the city.”

“Here it is.”

“I will remember it. Here, take another dollar; I can spare it, and you may need it.” On the Brooklyn side the two boys separated. Ben would have been very much surprised had he known that Frank, the poor newsboy whom he had befriended, was the nephew of Mrs. Harcourt, his wealthy patroness.