After her unsuccessful attempt to gain possession of Tom, granny returned home, not only angry but despondent. She had been deeply incensed at Tom’s triumph over her. Besides, she was tired of earning her own living, if begging from door to door can properly be called earning one’s living. At any rate it required exertion, and to this Mrs. Walsh was naturally indisposed. She sighed as she thought of the years when she could stay quietly at home, and send out Tom to beg or earn money for her. She would like, since Tom was not likely to return, to adopt some boy or girl of suitable age, upon whom she could throw the burden of the common support. But such were not easy to be met with, and Mrs. Walsh was dimly aware that no sane child would voluntarily select her as a guardian.

So granny, in rather low spirits, sought her elevated room, and threw herself upon the bed to sleep off her fatigue.

On awaking, granny seated herself at the window, and picked up mechanically the advertising sheet of the “Herald,” in which a loaf of bread had been wrapped that had been given to her the day previous. It was seldom that Mrs. Walsh indulged in reading, not possessing very marked literary tastes; but to-day she was seized with an idle impulse, which she obeyed, without anticipating that she would see anything that concerned her.

In glancing through the advertisements under the head “Personal,” her attention was drawn to the following:—

/# “If Margaret Walsh, who left Philadelphia in the year 1855, will call at No. — Wall Street, Room 8, she will hear of something to her advantage.” #/

“Why, that’s me!” exclaimed granny, letting the paper fall from her lap in surprise. “It’s my name, and I left Philadelphy that year. I wonder what it’s about. Maybe it’s about Tom.”

There were circumstances which led Mrs. Walsh to think it by no means improbable that the inquiries to be made were about Tom, and this made her regret more keenly that she had lost her.

“If it is,” she soliloquized, “I’ll get hold of her somehow.”

There was one part of the advertisement which particularly interested granny,—that in which it was suggested that she would hear something to her advantage. If there was any money to be made, granny was entirely willing to make it. Considering the unpromising state of her prospects, she felt that it was a piece of extraordinary good luck.

Looking at the date of the paper, she found that it was a fortnight old, and was troubled by the thought that it might be too late. At any rate no time was to be lost. So, in spite of the fatigue of her morning expedition, she put on her old cloak and bonnet, and, descending the stairs, sallied out into the street. She made her way down Nassau Street to Wall, and, carefully looking about her, found without difficulty the number mentioned in the advertisement. It was a large building, containing a considerable number of offices. No. 8 was on the third floor. On the door was a tin sign bearing the name:—

Mrs. Walsh knocked at the door; but there was no response. She knocked again, after a while, and then tried the door. But it was locked.

“The office closes at three, ma’am,” said a young man, passing by. “You will have to wait till to-morrow.”

Mrs. Walsh was disappointed, being very anxious to ascertain what advantage she was likely to receive. She presented herself the next morning at nine, only to find herself too early. At last she found the lawyer in. He looked up from his desk as she entered.

“Have you business with me?” he asked.

“Are you the man that advertised for Margaret Walsh?” asked granny.

“Yes,” said Mr. Selden, laying down his pen, and regarding her with interest. “Are you she?”

“Yes, your honor,” said granny, thinking her extra politeness might increase the advantage promised.

“Did you ever live in Philadelphia?”

“Yes, your honor.”

“Were you in service?”

Mrs. Walsh answered in the affirmative.

“In what family?”

“In the family of Mrs. Lindsay.”

“What made you leave her?” asked the lawyer, fixing his eyes searchingly upon Margaret.

Granny looked a little uneasy.

“I got tired of staying there,” she said.

“When you left Philadelphia, did you come to New York?”

“Yes, your honor.”

“Did you know that Mrs. Lindsay’s only child disappeared at the time you left the house?” inquired the lawyer.

“If I tell the truth will it harm me?” asked granny, uneasily.

“No; but if you conceal the truth it may.”

“Then I took the child with me.”

“What motive had you for doing this wicked thing? Do you know that Mrs. Lindsay nearly broke her heart at the loss of the child?”

“I was mad with her,” said granny, “that’s one reason.”

“Then there was another reason?”

“Yes, your honor.”

“What was it?”

“Young Mr. Lindsay hired me to do it. He offered me a thousand dollars.”

“Are you ready to swear this?”

“Yes,” said granny. “I hope you’ll pay me handsome for tellin’,” she added. “I’m a poor—woman,” she was on the point of saying “widder with five small children;” but it occurred to her that this would injure her in the present instance.

“You shall receive a suitable reward when the child is restored. It is living, I suppose?”

“Yes,” said granny.

“With you?”

“No, your honor. She ran away two months ago; but I saw her this morning.”

“Why should she run away? Didn’t you treat her well?”

“Like as if she was my own child,” said granny. “I’ve often and often gone without anything to eat, so that Tom might have enough. I took great care of her, your honor, and would have brought her up as a leddy if I hadn’t been so poor.”

“I thought it was a girl.”

“So it was, your honor.”

“Then why do you call her Tom?”

“’Cause she was more like a boy than a gal,—as sassy a child as I ever see.”

“So you have lost her?”

“Yes, your honor. She ran away from me two months since.”

“But you said you saw her yesterday. Why did you not take her back?”

“She wouldn’t come. She told the policeman she didn’t know me,—me that have took care of her since she was a little gal,—the ungrateful hussy!”

Granny’s pathos, it will be perceived, terminated in anger.

The lawyer looked thoughtful.

“The child must be got back,” he said. “It is only recently that her mother ascertained the treachery by which she was taken from her, and now she is most anxious to recover her. If you will bring her to me, you shall have a suitable reward.”

“How much?” asked granny, with a cunning look.

“I cannot promise in advance, but it will certainly be two hundred dollars,—perhaps more. Mrs. Lindsay will be generous.”

The old woman’s eyes sparkled. Such a sum promised an unlimited amount of whiskey for a considerable time. The only disagreeable feature in the case was that Tom would benefit by the restoration, since she would obtain a comfortable home, and a parent whose ideas of the parental relation differed somewhat from those of Mrs. Walsh. Still, two hundred dollars were worth the winning, and granny determined to win them. She suggested, however, that, in order to secure the co-operation of the police, she needed to be more respectably dressed; otherwise her claim would be scouted, provided Tom undertook to deny it.

This appeared reasonable, and as the lawyer had authority to incur any expense that he might consider likely to further the successful prosecution of the search, he sent out some one, in whom he had confidence, to purchase a respectable outfit for Mrs. Walsh. He further agreed to allow her three dollars a week for the present, that she might be able to devote all her time to hunting up Tom. This arrangement was very satisfactory to Mrs. Walsh, who felt like a lady in easy circumstances. Her return to the tenement house, in her greatly improved dress, created quite a sensation. She did not deign to enlighten her neighbors upon the cause of her improved fortunes, but dropped hints that she had come into a legacy.

From this time Mrs. Walsh began to frequent the up-town streets, particularly Eighteenth Street, where she had before encountered Tom. But as she still continued to make her rounds in the morning, it was many days before she caught a glimpse of the object of her search. As her expenses were paid in the mean time, she waited patiently, though she anticipated with no little pleasure the moment which should place Tom in her power. She resolved, before restoring her to her mother, to inflict upon her late ward a suitable punishment for her rebellion and flight, for which granny was not likely ever to forgive her.

“I’ll give her something to remember me by,” muttered granny. “See if I don’t!”