If Rose passed an unhappy afternoon and evening at the new home in Brooklyn, her brother was scarcely less unhappy in his old home in New York. He loved his little sister devotedly, and the thought that she might be receiving ill-treatment troubled him exceedingly. But there was this difference between them: Rose was timid, and saw no other way but to endure whatever hardships her lot imposed upon her. Rough and Ready, on the other hand, was bold and enterprising, and not easily discouraged. His first thought, therefore, was to get his sister back again. He had never been afraid of his stepfather for himself, only for his mother, while she lived, and afterwards for his little sister. In the present case, he knew that Martin was irritated at his withdrawing the little girl from him, and feared that she would fare the worse now on this account.

He spent the evening with Miss Manning, who was scarcely less troubled than himself at the loss of Rose. The lonely seamstress had found a great solace and comfort in the society of the little girl, and her heart had been drawn to her. She missed her sweet face, and the thousand questions which Rose was in the habit of asking as they sat together through the long day, which didn't seem half so long now as formerly, when she was alone.

When Rufus entered the little room, the first object his eyes rested upon was the little reading-book from which Rose had been in the habit of getting her daily lessons. "When will she read in it again?" he thought, with a pang.

"She was getting along so well in her reading," said Miss Manning, who divined his thoughts. "It's such a pity she should be taken away just at this time."

"I'll have her back, Miss Manning, you may depend upon it," said Rufus, energetically. "If she's anywhere in the city I'll find her."

"The city is a large place, Rufus," said the seamstress, a little despondently.

"That's true, but I shan't have to look all over it. Mr. Martin isn't very likely to be found in Fifth Avenue, unless he's better off than he used to be. He's somewhere in the lower part of the city, on the east side, and that's where I'll look. 'Twouldn't be much use lookin' over the arrivals at the Astor House, or St. Nicholas."

"That's true," said Miss Manning, smiling faintly.

There was reason in what the newsboy said; but, as we know, he was mistaken in one point,—Mr. Martin was not in the lower part of the city, on the east side, but in Brooklyn, but it was only the accident of his having found work there, which had caused him to remove across the river.

"Where shall you look first?" asked Miss Manning.

"I shall go to Leonard Street, where we used to live."

"Do you think your stepfather lives there now?"

"No; but perhaps I can find out there where he does live."

Rufus went round to the Lodging House at the usual time. On getting up in the morning, instead of going to the paper offices as usual, he went round to Leonard Street. His anxiety to gain, if possible, some tidings about Rose would not permit him to delay unnecessarily.

Just in front of his old home he saw a slatternly looking woman, one of the inmates of the tenement house. She recognized the newsboy at once.

"Where did you come from?" she asked. "I haven't seen you for a long time."

"No, I'm living in another place now. Have you seen anything of Mr. Martin, lately?"

"Aint you living with him now?"

"No, I've left him. I suppose he isn't in the old room."

"No, he went away some weeks ago. The agent was awful mad because he lost his rent."

"Then he hasn't been back since?"

"I haven't seen him. Maybe some of the rest in the house may know where he is. Are you going to live with him again?"

"No," said the newsboy; "I'd rather take care of myself."

"And how's that little sister of yours?"

"He's carried her off. That's why I'm tryin' to find him. If it wasn't for that I wouldn't trouble myself."

"You don't say so? Well, that's a pity. He isn't fit to take care of her. I hope you'll find her."

"Thank you, Mrs. Simpson. I guess I'll go upstairs and ask some of the rest."

Rough and Ready ascended the stairs, and called upon some of his old acquaintances, with inquiries of a similar character. But he got no information likely to be of service to him. Martin had not been seen near his old lodgings since the day when he had disappeared, leaving his rent unpaid.

"Where shall I go next?" thought the newsboy, irresolutely.

This was a question more easily asked than answered. He realized that to seek for Rose in the great city, among many thousands of houses, was something like seeking a needle in a haystack.

"I'll go and get my papers," he decided, "and while I am selling them, perhaps I may think of where to go next. It'll be a hard job; but I'm bound to find Rose if she's in the city."

That she was in the city he did not entertain a doubt. Otherwise, he might have felt less sanguine of ultimate success.

He obtained his usual supply of papers, and going to his wonted stand began to ply his trade.

"You're late this morning, aint you?" asked Ben Gibson, a boot-black, who generally stood at the corner of Nassau Street and Printing-House Square. "Overslept yourself, didn't you?"

"No," said the newsboy; "but I had an errand to do before I began."

"Get paid for it?"

"Not unless I pay myself. It was an errand of my own."

"I can't afford to work for myself," said Ben. "A chap asked me, yesterday, why I didn't black my own shoes. I axed him who was to pay me for doin' it. Blackin' costs money, and I can't afford to work for nothin'."

Ben's shoes certainly looked as if no blacking had ever been permitted to soil their virgin purity. Indeed, it is rather a remarkable circumstance that though the boot-blacks generally have at least three-fourths of their time unoccupied, and sometimes remain idle for hours at a time, it never occurs to them (so far, at least, as the writer's observation extends) to use a little of their time and blacking in improving the condition of their own shoes or boots, when they happen to have any. Whether this is owing to a spirit of economy, or to the same cause which hinders a physician from swallowing his own pills, it is not easy to say. The newsboys, on the contrary, occasionally indulge in the luxury of clean shoes.

"Your shoes don't look as if they'd been blacked lately," said Rough and Ready.

"No more they haven't. They can't stand such rough treatment. It would be too much for their delicate constitutions."

This was not improbable, since the shoes in question appeared to be on their last legs, if such an expression may be allowed.

"I like to have my shoes look neat," said Rufus.

"Don't you want a shine?" asked Ben, with a professional air.

"Can't afford it. Maybe I will, though, if you'll trade."

"As how?"

"Shine my shoes, and I'll give you a 'Sun.'"

"That aint but two cents," said Ben, dubiously.

"I know that; but you oughtn't to charge me more than the wholesale price."

"Anything in the 'Sun' this mornin'?"

"Full account of a great murder out in Buffalo," said the newsboy, in his professional tone.

"Well, I don't know but I'll do it," said Ben. "Only if a gent comes along what wants a shine, you must let me off long enough to do the job. I'll finish yours afterwards."

"All right."

Ben got out his brush, and, getting on his knees, began operations.

"'Herald,' 'Times,' 'Tribune,' 'World!'" the newsboy continued to cry.

"Seems to me, young man, you're rather particular about your appearance for a newsboy," said a gentleman, who came up just as Ben was giving the finishing touch to the first shoe.

"Oh," said Ben, speaking for his customer, "he only sells papers for amoosement. He's a young chap of fortune, and is first cousin to the King of Mulberry Street."

"Indeed! I think I must purchase a paper then. You may give me the 'Herald.'"

"Here it is, sir."

"Do you also black boots for amusement?" addressing Ben.

"Well," said Ben, "it may be a very amoosin' occupation for some, but I find it rather wearin' to the knees of my pantaloons. It sort of unfits me for genteel society."

"Then why don't you select some other business?"

"'Cause I can't make up my mind whether I'd rather be a lawyer or a banker. While I'm decidin' I may as well black boots."

"You're an original, I see."

"Thank you for the compliment;" and Ben rose from his knees, having made the newsboy's second shoe shine like a mirror. "Now, mister, if you'd like to have your boots shined up by a gentleman in reduced circumstances, I'm ready for the job."

"Well, perhaps I may as well. So you're in reduced circumstances, my lad?"

"Yes, sir; my aristocratic relatives have disowned me since I took to blackin' boots, just like they did Ferdinand Montressor, in the great play at the Old Bowery, when he lost his fortun' and went to tending bar for a livin'."

"I suppose Ferdinand came out right in the end, didn't he?"

"Yes, sir; owing to the death of fifteen of his nearest relations, who got blown up in a steamboat explosion, he became the owner of Montressor Castle, and a big pile of money besides, and lived happy forever after."

"Well, my lad, perhaps you'll be lucky too."

"Maybe you're meanin' to give me a quarter for blackin' your boots," said Ben, shrewdly.

"No, I wasn't intending to do it; but, as you're a gentleman in reduced circumstances, I don't know but I will."

"Thank you, sir," said Ben, pocketing the money with satisfaction. "Any time you want your boots blacked, just call on me, and I'll give you the bulliest shine you ever saw."

"All right, good-morning! When you get into your castle, I'll come and see you."

"Thank you, sir. I hope you'll live long enough to do it."

"That's wishing me a long life, I take it," said the gentleman, smiling.

"You're in luck, Ben," said the newsboy.

"That's so. He's what I call a gentleman."

"Lucky for you he isn't in reduced circumstances like me. Here's your 'Sun.' When I get rich I'll pay you better."

Ben began to spell out the news in the 'Sun,' with some difficulty, for his education was limited, and Rufus continued to cry his papers.

At the end of half an hour, happening to have his face turned towards the corner of Nassau Street, he made a sudden start as he saw the familiar figure of Martin, his stepfather, just turning into the Square.