On the day that Abner Balberry started for New York to look for Nat, our hero was called into Mr. Garwell's private office.

"Nat, how would you like to take a run down to Trenton with me?" asked the gentleman, pleasantly.

"I'd like it first-rate, Mr. Garwell," was the prompt answer.

"Very well, we'll go in half an hour. I wish to look up certain records concerning some property."

"When will we be back, Mr. Garwell?"

"Oh, some time this evening," answered the gentleman.

It may be mentioned here that John Garwell was a real estate broker. He handled only high-class properties, and chiefly those used for business purposes. He had started years before in a modest way, but was now fairly well-to-do, and his business was steadily increasing. He had taken a great fancy to Nat, and was wondering if he could not use the lad as a private secretary.

"I'd do it in a minute if the boy knew shorthand and typewriting," he told himself. "Perhaps I can get him to learn those branches."

At the appointed time our hero was ready for the trip to Trenton. His employer had stuffed a valise full of legal papers, and Nat took possession of the bag.

"Be careful of that valise," cautioned Mr. Garwell. "The contents are very valuable."

"I'll look out for it," was the answer.

They walked to the ferry, and there took a boat to Jersey City, and then boarded a train bound for the capital city of New Jersey. Mr. Garwell had obtained seats in a parlor car, and the elegant furnishings impressed Nat deeply.

"These cars are like palaces," he said.

"They are certainly comfortable," was his employer's response.

On the trip to Trenton Mr. Garwell asked Nat much about himself, and at last the boy told his tale from beginning to end.

"I don't suppose you care to go back to the farm," said Mr. Garwell, with a quiet smile.

"No, sir, I want to stay in New York. I believe there is more of a future here for me than on the farm."

"Possibly that is true. You had positively nothing to do with that fire at your uncle's barn?"

"No, sir—I didn't even have a light around the place."

"But you saw somebody near by."

"Yes, sir. I thought it was my uncle."

"It must have been a tramp."

"Just what I think, Mr. Garwell."

"And you think your uncle is coming to New York to look for you?"

"He'll come, if the carfare doesn't scare him off. He is a very close man."

"Hum!" The real estate broker mused for a moment. "Well, if he comes, supposing you let me know? Maybe I can persuade him to allow you to remain in the city."

At this Nat's face brightened.

"Oh, Mr. Garwell, will you do that? I suppose, as my guardian, he has a legal right to order me back to the farm."

"We'll have to see about that. But he hasn't found you yet."

"That is true."

"You ought to let him know that you are well, and have a position. You need not give him your address."

"I'll write the letter to-morrow."

"Was your father a farmer?"

"Yes, sir, although when he was a young fellow like myself he lived in Brooklyn. His father and his grandfather were both born in New York."

"I see. Then you have city blood in your veins. That may account for your liking New York so much."

In a short time after the conversation came to an end, Trenton was reached, and calling a cab, Mr. Garwell had himself and Nat driven to one of the public buildings.

Here both spent some time in looking over legal records, and one of the records Nat had to copy off in pencil for his employer. After this, came a visit to a lawyer's office, and Nat was sent on a short errand.

When the business in Trenton was over, both found they had two hours to wait before they could get a train for home.

"Let us go and get a lunch," said Mr. Garwell, and led the way to a fine restaurant in that vicinity.

The real estate broker was on the point of entering the eating place when a child of five ran up to him, exclaiming:

"Papa, I want you to buy me some candy, please."

Now, as it happened, Mr. Garwell was a bachelor, so he was taken much by surprise, and so was our hero.

"Did you speak to me, my dear?" he asked, kindly.

"Why, yes, papa," answered the little one, readily.

"But I am not your father, child," and the real estate broker began to flush up.

"Oh, yes, you are!" came from the child.

"No. What is your name?"

At this the child laughed heartily.

"What a funny papa you are, to ask me my name. But won't you buy me the candy? Please, do," went on the little one, pleadingly.

"What a funny mistake," said Mr. Garwell to Nat.

"Don't you know the little girl?"

"Not in the least."

"Get the candy!" cried the child, petulantly.

"All right, I'll get you some candy, only don't call me papa," answered the real estate broker. And he slipped into a candy shop, and purchased some chocolates. He had just passed the confectionery over, when a middle-aged lady hurried up.

"Oh, mamma, see the candy papa bought me!" cried the little girl, gleefully.

"You shouldn't have bought her so much candy, Horace," said the lady to Mr. Garwell, severely. "Chocolates make Lulu sick."

Being thus addressed, John Garwell turned redder than ever.

"Excuse me, madam," he stammered. "I—er—this is a mistake. My name is not Horace."

"Not Horace. The idea!"

"My name is John—John Garwell, and I am from New York."

At this answer the lady looked perplexed, and then indignant.

"Horace, quit your fooling!" she said, coldly.

"I am not fooling, madam."

"Oh, such a man! Perhaps you'll say next that I am not your wife!" continued the lady, with a black look.

"You certainly are not my wife, for I am a bachelor, madam," and now Mr. Garwell began to grow more embarrassed than ever, while Nat was completely mystified.

"Not my husband? Oh, you wretch, to say such a thing!" The lady turned to the child. "Lulu, who is this?"

"Why, that's papa," answered the little girl, promptly.

"Now, Horace, do you hear that?"

"I—I heard what she said," answered the real estate broker, feebly. "But—but——"

"If you are not her father, why did you buy her candy?"

"Just to keep her from calling me papa."

"Indeed! Did you want to bribe her? Oh, Horace, this is infamous! I—I—have you lost your mind?"

"No, but I think you and this child have."

At this the lady stared, and gave a gasp. She fainted, and would have fallen to the pavement had not Nat caught and supported her. Instantly a crowd began to collect.

"What's the trouble here?" asked one.

"The gentleman's wife has fainted," answered another.

"Excuse me, but she is not my wife," said John Garwell. "I don't know her."

"Certainly, she is your wife," cried a bystander. "I've seen you together lots of times, Mr. Mann."

"Wait," put in Nat. "Did you call this gentleman Mr. Mann?"

"Yes, and that's his name."

"You are mistaken. This gentleman is Mr. John Garwell."

"Go on with you, I know Mr. Mann too well to believe such a yarn."

"I don't care what you say, this gentleman is Mr. John Garwell, and he is from New York City."

"Then he has been playing a part here in Trenton, where he is known as Horace Q. Mann," said the bystander.

By this time the lady was coming to her senses. She clutched at the real estate broker.

"Take me home!" she murmured. "Oh, this is too much!"

"Better take her home," said several.

"I don't even know where she lives," answered John Garwell, blankly.

"She lives at 19 Hallock Street," said a boy in the crowd. "I'll show you the place, mister."

"Why not take her and the little girl home?" suggested Nat. "Perhaps you can clear up this mystery there?"

"All right, I will," answered his employer. "Nat, call a coach. I'm going to see this affair through. It's the oddest thing I ever had happen to me."

The coach was called, and the lady and the girl got in, and John Garwell and Nat followed.

"I knew you were coming home to-day from that trip to Washington," said the lady, with a tearful look in her face, "but I never dreamed you would act this way, Horace."

"Madam, will you answer me one question. Have you a husband who went to Washington?"

"Oh, Horace!"

Seeing he could make no headway, Mr. Garwell became silent. Inside of ten minutes they reached 19 Hallock Street, and the coach came to a halt. A servant let them into the mansion. As she did this she stared at the real estate broker and gave a low cry of surprise.

"Why, I—er—I thought Mr. Mann was in the library!" she stammered. "I didn't know he went out to meet you, Mrs. Mann."

"Let us go to the library," said John Garwell.

The lady of the house was willing, and hurried hither, followed by her daughter, the real estate broker, and Nat. As they entered, a gentleman who had been seated in an arm-chair, reading a book, arose to meet them.

"Well, Clara, I'm back," he said, cheerily.

"Oh!" screamed the lady, and fainted again, and not without good reason, for before her stood a gentleman who was almost the exact facsimile of Mr. Garwell in face, form, and general appearance.

"Why, which one of you is my papa?" cried little Lulu.

"I'm your papa!" answered the gentleman of the house. "Why—er—who—who is this?" he stammered, looking at John Garwell.

"Let us attend to your wife first," was the answer, and soon the lady of the house was restored to her senses. Then began a series of explanations.

"It was dreadful of me to make such a mistake," said Mrs. Mann, hysterically. "But—but——"

"I don't wonder at it—now," answered John Garwell. "Your husband could pass for my twin brother."

"I can hardly tell one from the other, myself," said Nat.

"Never mind; he bought me some candy," put in little Lulu, and this made all laugh.

"I am going to ask you to do something," said John Garwell, to Horace Mann. "I think you owe it to me to walk down town, so that your fellow citizens can see that there are really two of us."

"Yes, Horace," pleaded his wife. "I made a lot of trouble for Mr. Garwell."

Horace Mann agreed readily, and soon he and the real estate broker and Nat left the residence. On the main streets of Trenton many stopped to stare after them. Among the number was the man who had spoken to Mr. Garwell, and insisted that the real estate broker was Mr. Mann.

"I apologize," said the man, promptly. "But I reckon you'll admit the resemblance is simply wonderful."

"I do admit it," was the answer. "Still, that doesn't make me anybody but myself."

Horace Mann insisted upon taking John Garwell and Nat to dinner, and treated them to the best the restaurant afforded.

"After this I'm going to wear a badge, so my wife will know me," said the Trenton man. "And I'll never dare to come to New York, for fear of being taken for you."