One day Nelson was folding some evening papers at the stand when, on glancing up, he saw Homer Bulson standing not far away eyeing him sharply.

"Hullo, what does he want now?" thought our hero.

Bulson waited until several customers had received papers and departed, and then came closer.

"How is trade?" he asked, in as pleasant a voice as he could command.

"Very good," returned Nelson coolly.

"I presume you do better with the stand than you did selling papers on the street."

"Much better."

"I am glad to hear it."

To this Nelson made no reply, for he felt certain that Homer Bulson was playing the part of a hypocrite.

"He wants to find out about Gertrude," he told himself.

"How is Miss Horton making out these days?" went on the young man.

"She is doing nicely."

"Is she working?"

"She gives piano lessons."

"Humph! she can't make much at that."

"She make enough to keep her."

"If she wouldn't be so headstrong she might have a comfortable home without working."

"She intends to do as she pleases," replied Nelson sharply. "And she doesn't ask you for advice."

"Where is she living now?"

"You'll have to find that out for yourself."

"Her uncle wants to know."

"Then let him write to her and address the letter to the general post-office."

"Does she go there for her letters?"

"No; somebody goes for her."

At this Homer Bulson bit his lip in increased vexation.

"What rot all this is!" he cried. "I'm not going to eat her up."

"You're right there," grinned Nelson. "We won't let you. The best you can do is to leave her alone. If you don't somebody will get hurt."

"Ha! do you threaten me?"

"You can take the warning as you please."

"Boy, you are a fool!"

"If I am, I am too smart a fool to be taken in by you, Mr. Homer Bulson."

"I want to help Miss Horton."

"You want to harm her, you mean."

"Then you won't tell me where she lives?"

"No. And let me add, if you find out and try to harm her you'll get hurt."

"Oh, you make me tired," muttered Bulson, and walked away.

Everything seemed to be against the young man, but two days later his luck—if such it can be called—changed.

He was walking along a fashionable side street, when on chancing to look ahead he saw Gertrude leave a house and hurry to the corner.

He started to follow her, but before he could reach her she had boarded a street car and was out of his reach.

Going back to the house he met a girl of twelve coming out on the stone stoop.

"Good-afternoon," he said politely. "Am I right about seeing Miss Horton just coming from here?"

"You are," answered the girl. "She's just been giving me a music lesson."

"Oh, so she gives music lessons here. Does she teach anybody else in the neighborhood?"

"Yes; she teaches on the block above here and around on the avenue." And the girl gave the names and addresses.

Homer Bulson made a note of the names and addresses and walked off in high satisfaction.

"Now to work my little scheme," he said to himself.

Two days later he left New York and took a train at Jersey City for Lakewood, down in New Jersey.

At the fashionable resort he managed to find a house on the outskirts of the town. It was owned and kept by an old woman, who was more than half deaf.

To this old woman, whose name was Sarah Higgins, Bulson told a long story of a cousin who was a little crazy and who wanted absolute rest.

"She is harmless, excepting for her tongue," said Bulson. "I would like to bring her here for several months. If you will take her, I will give you twenty-five dollars a week for your trouble."

Sarah Higgins was a natural-born miser, and she readily consented to take the young lady and watch her.

"I've taken care of them as is out of their mind before," she said. "I know how to treat 'em."

Homer Bulson's next move was to write a long letter to Gertrude. This letter was signed with the name of a fashionable lady of society, and ran as follows:

"Dear Miss Horton: Perhaps you will be surprised to receive this from me, a stranger, but Mrs. Jackson has been speaking to me about you, and the good lessons you are giving her daughter Belle.

"My husband used to know your father well, and the pair were warm friends, and he joins me in making this offer to you.

"I have three children, two girls and a boy, and I wish to obtain a music-teacher for them who will not only give lessons, but also take a personal interest in the little ones. There is nobody here at Lakewood who is suitable, and I wish to know if we cannot arrange to have you come down every Wednesday or Thursday? I will pay your carfare and give you five dollars per week for the lessons. Of course you can also have lunch with me.

"I think you will find this a good opening for you, and perhaps we can get you more pupils here. Please call upon me next Wednesday afternoon, and we can then talk it over and complete arrangements.

"Yours truly,
"Mrs. James Broaderick."

The letter came as a complete surprise to Gertrude, and she scarcely knew what to make of it.

Of course, as was natural, she felt much pleased. A trip to Lakewood each week would be delightful, and five dollars would add quite something to her income.

The letter reached her on Tuesday morning, so she had not long to consider it. That noon she met Gladys and told her she was going to Lakewood on business the following morning, on the early train.

"Lakewood!" cried the flower girl.

"Yes. What makes you look so surprised, Gladys?"

"I didn't think you'd leave New York."

"I shall only be gone for the day. There is a lady there who wants me to give lessons to her three children."

"Oh!"

"She will pay well, and the trip each week will be quite an outing."

"It will be cold traveling this winter, I'm thinking."

"Lakewood is a famous winter resort now. The hotels are fine, so I've been told."

"Does the lady live at a hotel?"

"No; she has a private cottage near by—so her letter says."

"Well, I wish you luck," said Gladys, and so the pair parted.