During the evening some of the neighbors came in, and received a hearty greeting from Mrs. Murphy.

“And who is this young leddy?” asked Mrs. O’Brien, looking at Tom.

“It’s a friend of mine,” said Mrs. Murphy.

“Don’t you know me?” asked Tom, who, in the days of her rags and tatters, had known Mrs. O’Brien.

“Shure and it isn’t Tom?” said Mrs. O’Brien, in surprise.

“Did ye iver see such a change?” said Mrs. Murphy. “Shure and I didn’t know her meself when she came in wid my Mike.”

“It’s mighty fine you’re dressed, Tom,” said Mrs. O’Brien. “Your granny aint come into a fortun’, has she?”

“I don’t live with granny now,” answered Tom. “She’s a bad old woman, and she isn’t my granny either.”

“It was only yesterday I saw her, and fine she was dressed too, wid a nice shawl to her back, and quite the leddy, barrin’ a red nose. She says she’s come into some money.”

Tom opened wide her eyes in astonishment. She had speculated more than once on granny’s circumstances, but it had never entered her thoughts that she had taken a step upwards in respectability.

“Where did you see her?” asked Tom.

“She was gettin’ out of a Third Avenue car. She said she had just come from up town.”

“She was lookin’ after me, it’s likely,” said Tom.

“Where did she get her new clothes from?” Tom wondered.

“Maybe she’s been adopted by a rich family in Fifth Avenoo,” remarked Mike,—a sally which nearly convulsed his mother with laughter.

“Shure, Mike, and you’ll be the death of me some time,” she said.

“She’d make an interestin’ young orphan,” continued Mike.

“Hadn’t you better marry her, Mike? and then you’d be my grandfather,” suggested Tom.

“Such a beauty aint for the likes of me,” answered Mike. “Besides, mother wouldn’t want her for a daughter-in-law. She’d likely get jealous of her good looks.”

“O Mike, you’re a case!” said Mrs. Murphy, with a smile on her broad, good-humored face.

So the evening passed, enlivened with remarks, not very intellectual or refined, it is true, but good-natured, and at times droll. Tom enjoyed it. She had a home-feeling, which she had never had at Mrs. Merton’s; and above all she was cheered by the thought that she was welcome, though the home was humble enough.

By and by the callers departed, and the family made preparations for bed.

“I can’t give you a very nice bed, Tom,” said Mrs. Murphy, “but I’ll fix you up a place to slape on the floor wid my Biddy.”

“That’ll be jolly,” said Tom. “If it wasn’t for you, I’d have to sleep out in the street.”

“That would be a pity, entirely, as long as I have a roof over me. There’s room enough for you, Tom, and it won’t be robbin’ any of us.”

Tom slept comfortably. Her bed was not one of the softest; but she had never been used to beds of down, sleeping on a hard straw bed even at Mrs. Merton’s. She woke, feeling refreshed, and in much better spirits than when she set out from Mrs. Merton’s.

When breakfast was over, Mrs. Murphy set out for her place of business, and Mike for his daily occupation. Biddy remained at home to take charge of the younger children. With the rest Tom went too.

“Come back to-night, Tom,” said Mrs. Murphy.

“I should like to,” said Tom, “if you’ll let me pay for my board.”

“Shure we won’t quarrel about that. And what are you goin’ to do, Tom, the day?”

“I don’t know,” said Tom. “If I had any money I’d buy some papers.”

“How much wud you want?”

“Twenty-five cents would give me a start.”

Mrs. Murphy dived into the recesses of a capacious pocket, and drew out a handful of currency.

“I’ll lind it to you,” she said. “Why didn’t you ask me before?”

“Thank you,” said Tom. “I’ll bring it back to-night. You’re very kind to me, Mrs. Murphy,” she added, gratefully.

“It’s the poor that knows how to feel for the poor,” said the apple-woman. “It’s I that’ll trust you, Tom, dear.”

Three months before Tom would have told Mrs. Murphy that she was a trump; but though some of her street phrases clung to her, she was beginning to use less of the slang which she had picked up during her long apprenticeship to a street life. Though her position, even at Mrs. Merton’s, had not been as favorable as it might have been elsewhere, the influences were far better than in the home (if it deserved the name) in which she had been reared, and the association of the school which she attended had, likewise, been of advantage to her. I do not wish it to be understood that Tom had in three months changed from a young Arab into a refined young lady. That would be hardly possible; but she had begun to change, and she could never again be quite the wild, reckless girl whose acquaintance we made at the street-crossing.

Tom went out with Mrs. Murphy, helping her to carry her basket of apples. Leaving her at her accustomed stand, she went to the newspaper offices, and laid in a small supply. With these she went to Fulton Ferry, partly because she fancied that there was no danger of granny’s coming there in pursuit of her. Even if the encounter did take place she was resolved not to go back. Still it was better to avoid it altogether.

Tom was rather late in the field. Most of her competitors had been selling papers for an hour, and some had already sold quite a number. However, not being in the least bashful, she managed to obtain her share of the trade that remained. The boats came in at frequent intervals, loaded down with passengers,—clerks, shop-boys, merchants, bankers, book-keepers, operatives, who made a home in Brooklyn, but spent the day in the busy metropolis.

“Morning papers, sir?” asked Tom, to a rather portly gentleman, who did business in Wall Street.

“Yes; give me the ‘Herald.’”

He drew a coin from his pocket, and handed to Tom.

“Never mind about the change,” he said.

Tom was about to put it in her pocket, supposing from the size that it was a five-cent piece; but, chancing to glance at it more particularly, she saw that it was a five-dollar gold piece.

Her eyes sparkled with joy. To her it was an immense fortune. She had never, in all her life, had so much money before. “But did he mean to give her so much?” was the question that suggested itself to her immediately. He had, to be sure, told her to keep the change, but Tom knew too much of human nature and the ways of the world to think it likely that anybody would pay five dollars in gold for a morning paper, without asking for a return of the change.

Now I am quite aware that in three cases out of four the lucky news-vender would have profited by the mistake, and never thought of offering to correct it. Indeed, I am inclined to think that Tom herself would have done the same three months before. Even now she was strongly tempted to do so. But she remembered the false charge that had been made against her by Mrs. Merton the day before, and the indignation she felt.

“If I keep this, and it’s ever found out, she’ll be sure I took the twenty dollars,” thought Tom. “I won’t do it. I won’t let her call me a thief. I’ll give it back.”

The purchaser of the paper was already half through Fulton Market before Tom made up her mind to return the money. She started on a run, afraid her resolution might give way if she stopped to consider.

She easily recognized the man who had paid her the money.

“Mister,” said Tom, touching him to attract his attention.

“What’s wanted?” he inquired, looking at our heroine.

“Did you mean to give me this?” and Tom displayed the gold piece.

“Did I give it to you?”

“Yes, you bought a ‘Herald,’ you know, and told me to keep the change.”

“Well, why didn’t you?” he asked, in some curiosity.

“I thought you made a mistake.”

“I shouldn’t have found it out. Didn’t you want to keep it?”

“Yes,” said Tom, unhesitatingly.

“Why didn’t you?”

“I thought it would be stealing.”

“You’re a natural phenomenon!”

“Is that a bad name?” demanded Tom.

“No, not in this case. So I told you to keep the change, did I?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then you’d better do it.”

“Do you mean it?” asked Tom, astonished.

“To be sure. I never break my word.”

“Then I’ll do it,” said Tom. “Aint I in luck this morning, though?”

“Yes, I think you are. As I probably know more of business than you, my young friend, will you permit me to give you a piece of advice?”

“All right,” said Tom.

“Then, as gold is at a premium, you had better sell that gold piece, and take the value in currency.”

“Where can I sell it?” asked Tom.

“I don’t, in general, solicit business, but, if you have confidence in my integrity, you may call at my office, No. — Wall Street, any time to-day, and I will give you the market value of the gold.”

“I don’t understand all them big words,” said Tom, rather puzzled, “but I’ll go as soon as I have sold my papers.”

“Very good. You may ask for Mr. Dunbar. Can you remember the name?”

Tom said she could, repeating it two or three times, to become familiar with it.

An hour later she entered the broker’s office, looking about her for her acquaintance of the morning.

“Ah, there you are,” said the broker, recognizing her.

“So you want to sell your gold?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Gold sells at 141 to-day. Will that be satisfactory?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Mr. Johnson,” said Mr. Dunbar, addressing a clerk, “give that young lady value in currency for five dollars in gold.”

Tom handed in the gold, and received in return seven dollars and five cents. She could hardly credit her good luck, not being familiar with the mysteries of banking.

“Thank you, sir,” said she gratefully, to the broker.

“I hope you will favor us with any future business you may have in our line,” said Mr. Dunbar, with a friendly smile.

“Yes, sir,” answered Tom, rather mystified by his manner, but mentally deciding that he was one of the jolliest gentlemen she had ever met.

When Tom emerged from the office, and was once more in the hurry and bustle of Wall Street, it is very doubtful whether, in that street of millionnaires and men striving to become such, there was a single one who felt so fabulously wealthy as she.