"Rupert, the superintendent wishes to see you."

Rupert Rollins, a tall boy of sixteen, was engaged in folding some pieces of cloth which had been shown during the day to customers. It was the principal salesroom of Tenney & Rhodes, who conducted a large wholesale dry goods house in the lower part of New York city.

"Very well, Harry," he said. "I will go at once. I wonder what he wants to see me about."

"I don't know. I hope it is to raise your wages."

"That isn't likely in these dull times, though a raise would be very welcome."

When Rupert had finished folding the pieces he was upon he left his place and knocked at the door of a small room occupied by the superintendent.

A man of about forty was seated at a desk writing.

"Mr. Frost," said Rupert, respectfully, "I hear you wish to speak with me."

"Yes; take a seat."

Rupert was tired, for he had been on his feet all day, and was glad to sink into a chair near the door.

"How long have you been in our employ?" asked the superintendent, in the quick tones habitual to him.

"Nearly six months."

"So I supposed. You are one of the last clerks taken on."

"Yes, sir."

"I am sorry, I have bad news for you. Mr. Tenney feels, in view of the dullness in business, that it will be advisable to diminish his clerical force. As you are one of the last taken on, he has selected you and a few others for discharge."

Rupert turned pale. What a terrible misfortune this would be to him he well knew. The future seemed to him dark indeed.

"I hope, sir," he said, in an unsteady voice, "that the firm is not dissatisfied with me."

"Oh, no. No indeed! I have heard only good reports of you. We shall be glad to recommend you to any other firm."

"Thank you, sir. When do you wish me to go?"

"You can stay till the end of the week."

Rupert bowed and left the room. His head was in a whirl, and he felt that a calamity had indeed fallen upon him. His wages were but five dollars a week, but this sum, small as it was, was the main support of his mother and sister, the latter a chronic invalid, only two years younger than himself. What they were to do when this small income was taken away he could not conjecture. He felt that he must look out at once for a new place.

"Well, Rupert, what business did the superintendent have with you?" asked Harry Bacon, Rupert's most intimate friend in the store.

"Only to tell me that I was discharged," said Rupert, quietly.

"Why, that's a shame!" exclaimed Harry, impetuously. "What are you discharged for?"

"Only on account of dull times. The house will give me a recommendation."

"It seems too bad you are to go. Why didn't they discharge me, too?"

"You have been here longer, and it is only those last taken on who must go. I suppose it is all right, but it is hard."

"Keep up your courage, Rupert. It isn't as if you were discharged for cause. With a recommendation from Tenney & Rhodes you ought to find another place here."

"Yes, in ordinary times, but you know business is dull elsewhere as well as with us. It isn't a good time to change places."

"Well, you'll get something else. All branches of business may not be as dull as ours."

Harry Bacon had a sanguine disposition, and always looked on the bright side. His assurances encouraged Rupert a little, and he determined to do his best to find something to do, no matter what.

At five o'clock the store closed. Retail stores kept open later, but early hours are one of the advantages of a wholesale establishment.

Rupert bent his steps towards Elizabeth Street. In an upper apartment in one of the shabby houses fronting on this thoroughfare lived his mother and sister. It was only a three-story house, and there were but two flights of stairs to ascend.

Entering the principal room, Rupert saw his mother with her head bent in an attitude of despondency over the table. Through a door he could see his sister lying uneasily on a bed in a small inner room, her face showing that she was suffering pain.

Rupert stepped forward and with tender sympathy strove to raise his poor mother from her position of despondency.

"What is the matter, mother?" he asked. "Are you not well?"

"Yes, Rupert," she answered, raising her head, "but for the moment I felt discouraged. Grace has been suffering more than usual to-day. Sickness and poverty, too, are hard to bear."

"That is true, mother," and Rupert's heart sank as he remembered that by the end of the week the poverty would become destitution.

"Grace has been unable to eat anything to-day. She thought she could eat an orange, but I absolutely didn't have money enough to buy one."

"She shall have an orange," said Rupert, in a low voice.

The sick girl heard, and her face brightened. It was an instinctive craving, such as a sick person sometimes has.

"I should enjoy an orange," she said, faintly. "I think I could sleep after eating one."

"I will go right out and get one."

Rupert put on his hat and went down stairs.

"You may buy a loaf of bread, Rupert," said his mother, as he was starting, "that is, if you have money enough."

"Yes, mother."

There was an Italian fruit vender's stall at the next corner. As he stepped out on the sidewalk Rupert took out his slender purse and examined its contents. It held but thirty-five cents, and this must last till Saturday night, when he would receive his weekly wages.

Going to the stand, he examined the Italian's stock. He saw some large, attractive oranges marked "five cents." There were some smaller ones marked three cents, but Rupert judged that they were sour, and would not please his sister. Yet five cents was considerable for him to pay under the circumstances. It represented one-seventh of his scanty stock of money.

"Won't you let me have one of these oranges for four cents?" he asked.

Nicolo, the Italian, shook his head.

"No," he answered. "It is good-a orange. It is worth more than I ask."

Rupert sighed and hesitated.

"I suppose I shall have to pay it," he said, regretfully.

He drew out his purse and took out a nickel.

"I'll take an orange," he said.

"Is it for yourself?" asked a gentle voice.

Rupert turned, and saw a tiny woman, not over five feet in height, with a pleasant, kindly face.

"No," he said, "it is for my sister."

"Is your sister sick?"

"Yes. She has taken a fancy to an orange, and I want her to have one, but—it is extravagant for one in my circumstances to pay a nickel for one."

"Would you mind," said the little woman, hesitatingly, "would you mind if I sent an orange to your sister?"

Rupert hesitated. He was proud, but not foolishly so, and he saw that the offer was meant in kindness.

"I should say it was very kind in you," he said, candidly.

The little woman nodded contentedly, and spoke a low word to the Italian.

He selected four oranges and put them in a paper bag.

"But that is too many," expostulated Rupert.

"No," answered the little woman, with a smile. "Keep the rest for to-morrow," and before Rupert had a chance to thank her she had paid Nicolo and was hurrying down the street.

The spontaneous kindness of the little woman, who was a perfect stranger, helped to cheer Rupert. He felt that there were some kind people in the world, and his trust in Providence was increased. He went to a baker's, near by, and purchased a ten-cent loaf of bread. Then he made his way back to his humble home in Elizabeth Street.

As he entered the room, the sick girl looked up eagerly. Rupert emptied the oranges on the table, and her face brightened as she saw the yellow fruit which she craved.

"Rupert, I am afraid you were extravagant," said his mother. "These oranges must have cost five cents each."

"Yes, they did."

"We cannot afford such a large purchase in our circumstances."

"They cost me nothing, mother. They are a present to Grace from a lady who met me at the stand."

"She must have a kind heart. Do you know who she was?"

"No, I never saw her before."

"The world is not all unkind. Grace, I will prepare an orange for you. I hope you will relish it."

The sick girl enjoyed the fruit, and after eating it lay back content.

"May I have another in the morning?" she asked.

"Yes, my child."

So the evening passed not wholly unhappily, but still Rupert could not help thinking of the next week, when he would be out of a position.