Dan thought it probable that the lady who accosted him might wish to send him on an errand, and his surprise vanished. She was tall, slender, and grave in appearance. She was probably not over thirty-five. Her first words renewed Dan's surprise.

"Have you a mother living?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"A father?"

"No, ma'am."

"Are you an only child, or have you brothers and sisters?"

"There is only one of me," answered Dan, humorously.

"I suppose you are poor?"

"If I were not, I would not sell papers for a living."

"Probably you live in a poor place?"

"Yes," answered Dan, beginning to be tired of satisfying what might be only curiosity on the part of the lady. She noticed at once the change in his manner.

"I am not making these inquiries out of curiosity," she said, quickly. "I have an object in what I ask."

This naturally surprised Dan the more.

"All right, ma'am," he said; "I am ready to answer."

"Are you at leisure for an hour or two?" asked the lady.

Dan hesitated.

"I suppose mother will be worried if I don't come home to supper," he said, hesitating.

"Can't you send her a message not to expect you? Does this little girl know where you live?"

"Yes," answered Fanny, readily.

To her the lady turned.

"Little girl," she said, "go at once and tell this boy's mother that he will not be home till nine o'clock. Say he is called away by business."

"Yes, ma'am."

"This will pay you for your trouble."

The little girl's eyes sparkled with joy as the lady placed fifty cents in her hand.

"Thank you. How glad mother will be!" she said.

As for Dan, he was puzzled to conjecture what the lady could want of him. What would justify such a handsome compensation to Fanny merely to explain his absence to his mother?

"Now," said the lady, "if you will hail the next stage we will go up town."

They had not long to wait. Soon they were rattling over the pavements through thronged Broadway. It was two years since Dan had been in a Broadway stage. He could not afford to pay ten cents for a ride, but when it was absolutely necessary rode in a horse-car for half price.

Dan looked about him to see if he knew any one in the stage. Nearly opposite sat his former schoolmate, Tom Carver, with a young lady at his side. Their glances met, and Dan saw Tom's lip curl with scorn. Of course he did not betray any mark of recognition.

"I like riding in a Broadway stage," he heard the young lady say. "There is more to see as you go along. Besides, the company is more select."

"Not always," said Tom, with a significant glance at Dan.

Dan felt indignant, but was too proud to show it.

"The price excludes the lower classes from using the stage," said the young lady.

"It ought to, but I have seen a newsboy in a stage."

"How can they afford to pay ten cents for riding?"

"I give it up," said Tom, shrugging his shoulders.

The lady who was with Dan noticed the direction of Tom Carver's look.

"Do you know that boy?" she asked.

"Yes," answered Dan, "I used to know him."

"Why don't you know him now?"

"Because my father lost his property."

"I see," said the lady. "It is the way of the world. Don't mind it."

"I don't," said Dan, promptly, returning Tom Carver's stare.

Tom could not help hearing this conversation, and learned for the first time that Dan and the handsomely dressed lady beside him were in company.

"What can they have to do with each other?" he asked himself, curiously. "She can't be a relation—she is too handsomely dressed."

At this moment the young lady beside him dropped her handkerchief. Before Tom could stoop to pick it up Dan had handed it to her with a polite bow.

"Thank you," said the young lady, with a pleasant smile.

"You needn't have troubled yourself," said Tom Carver, irritated. "This young lady is under my charge."

"It is no trouble, I assure you," answered Dan.

"He is very polite," said the young lady, in a low voice, "and very good-looking, too," she added, with a second look at Dan.

"He is only a common newsboy," said Tom, not relishing Julia Grey's tribute to a boy he disliked.

"I can't help what he is," said the young lady, independently; "he looks like a gentleman."

Dan could not help catching the drift of their conversation, and his face flushed with pleasure, for Julia was a very pretty girl, but not being addressed to him, he could not take notice of it otherwise.

"He lives at the Five Points somewhere," muttered Tom.

The young lady seemed rather amused at Tom's discomposure, and only smiled in reply.

The stage kept on till it reached Madison square.

"Will you pull the strap opposite the Fifth Avenue Hotel?" said the lady, addressing Dan.

Dan did so.

He got out first, and helped his companion out.

"Follow me into the hotel," she said.

Dan did so.

"What is your name?" asked the lady, as they ascended the stairs.

"Dan Mordaunt."

"I needn't ask if you have a good mother?" she proceeded.

"One of the best," said Dan, promptly.

"You look like a well-bred boy, and I infer that your mother is a lady. Come into the parlor. I wish to speak to you on business."

Dan followed her, wondering, and she signed to him to take a seat on the sofa beside her.

"You have already told me that you have no sister," she began.

"No, ma'am."

"Do you think your mother would enjoy the society of a little girl?"

"I think she would."

"I have a little girl under my charge—my niece—from whom, for reasons unnecessary to state, I am obliged to part for a time. Do you think your mother would be willing to take charge of her? Of course I would make it worth her while."

"I am sure she would like it," said Dan, for he saw at a glance that this would be a very desirable arrangement for them.

"Then you feel authorized to accept the charge in your mother's name?"

"I do."

"The little girl is five years old. Your mother would be willing to teach her until such time as she may be old enough to go to school?"

"Oh, yes, ma'am."

"I think little girls are best off at home until the age of seven or eight."

"There is one objection," said Dan.

"What is that?" asked the lady, quickly.

"We live in a poor room and a poor neighborhood."

"That objection can be obviated. I shall pay you enough to enable you to take better rooms."

Dan heard this with satisfaction.

"I may as well be explicit," said the lady. "I propose to pay fifty dollars a month for my ward's board, including, of course, your mothers care."

"Fifty dollars a month!" repeated Dan, astonished.

"If you consider that sufficient."

"I am afraid it won't be worth it," said Dan, frankly.

"If Althea is well cared for, as I am sure she will be, I shall have no fear of that. Let me add that I shall allow your mother ten dollars per month extra for the child's clothing—say sixty dollars in all. For the present that will probably be enough."

"Oh, yes, I should think so," said Dan. "When do you want her to come to us?"

"Now. You will take her back with you."

"To-night?" asked Dan, startled.

"Yes, to-night. I must leave New York early to-morrow. In fact, I leave the city by an early train."

"She would have to come to our poor lodgings," said Dan, hesitatingly.

"One night there won't matter. To-morrow you can secure rooms up town."

"Yes, ma'am, I will. Our month expires to-morrow."

"Now," said the lady, rising, "since the matter is settled, come up stairs with me, and I will show you the child."

Dan followed the lady up stairs, feeling as if he were in a dream, but a very pleasant one.