There stands a large tenement-house on East Fourteenth street, five stories in height, and with several entrances. Scores of barefooted and scantily attired children play in the halls or on the sidewalk in front, and the great building is a human hive, holding scores of families. Some of them, unaccustomed to live better, are tolerably content with their squalid and contracted accommodations; but a few, reduced by gradual steps from respectability and comfort, find their positions very hard to bear.

On the third floor three small rooms were occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Robert Morgan, and their two children. She was the daughter of Mrs. Graham, and had been reared in affluence. How she had incurred her father's displeasure has already been told. He had been taken sick some months before, his little stock of money had melted away, and now he was unable even to pay the small expenses of life in a tenement-house.

Just before Frank made his appearance there was sadness in the little household.

"How much money is there left, Ellen?" asked Robert Morgan.

"Seventy-five cents," she answered, in a tone which she tried to make cheerful.

"And our week's rent will become due to-morrow."

"I may hear from mother," suggested Mrs. Morgan.

"If you don't, I don't know what will become of us all. We shall be thrust into the street. Even this squalid home will be taken from us."

"Don't get discouraged, Robert."

"Isn't there enough to make me despondent, Ellen? I can see now that I did very wrong to marry you."

"Do you regret our marriage, then, Robert?" asked his wife.

"Only because it has brought you poverty and discomfort."

"I have not yet regretted it."

"How different a position you would have occupied if I had not dragged you down! You would still be living in luxury."

"I should not have you and these dear children."

"And will they compensate you for what has come upon you?"

"Yes," she answered, emphatically.

"You have more philosophy than I have, Ellen."

"More trust, perhaps. Do you know, Robert, I think we are on the eve of good fortune?"

"I hope so, but I see no prospects of it."

Just then there was a knock at the door.

Thinking that it might be some humble neighbor, on a borrowing expedition, Mrs. Morgan opened the door. Before her stood our hero in his uniform.

"Is this Mrs. Robert Morgan?" asked Frank.

"Yes," she answered.

"I come from your mother."

"From my mother? Robert, do you hear that?" said the poor woman, in a voice of gladness. "Here is a messenger from my mother. Didn't I tell you there was good luck in store for us?"

Mr. Morgan did not answer. He waited anxiously to hear what Frank had to communicate.

"Your mother sends you her love, and fifty dollars," continued Frank. "She hopes to call soon herself."

"Fifty dollars!" exclaimed Ellen Morgan, in delight. "It is a fortune."

"Thank Heaven!" ejaculated her husband, in great relief.

"A month hence you may expect a similar sum," said Frank. "I suppose I shall bring it. Shall I find you here?"

Ellen Morgan looked at her husband.

"No," said he. "Let us get out of this neighborhood as soon as possible. Can't you find a respectable place to-day?"

"Yes," said his wife. "I shall be glad to move. I saw some neat rooms on West Twentieth street on Monday. They will cost us but little more, and will suit us better."

"I will send my mother my new address," she said to Frank.

"Then you may send it under cover to me, and I will see that she gets it privately," said Frank, who had received instructions to that effect from Mrs. Graham.

When Frank had left the room the little household seemed quite transformed. Hope had entered, and all looked more cheerful.

"We are provided for, for two months, Robert," said his wife. "Is not that a piece of good luck?"

"Yes, indeed it is," he answered heartily. "Before that time I can get to work again, and with health and employment I shall not need to ask favors of any one."

"I wish father were as forgiving as mother," said Ellen Morgan.

"Your father is a hard man. He will never forgive you for marrying a poor man. He would punish you by starvation."

"He is very proud," said Mrs. Morgan. "I was an only daughter, you know, and he had set his heart upon my making a brilliant marriage."

"As you might have done."

"As I did not care to do. I preferred to make a happy marriage with the man of my choice."

"You are a good wife, Ellen."

"I hope you will always find me so, Robert."

"I should have sunk utterly if you had been like some women."

In the afternoon Mrs. Morgan went out, taking one of her children with her. She went to the rooms on West Twentieth street, and, finding them still vacant, secured them, paying a month's rent in advance, as her mother's timely gift enabled her to do. Before the next evening they were installed in their new home, and Mrs. Morgan sent a note to her mother, under cover to Frank, apprising her of the removal.

Two days later Frank received a summons to the house on Madison avenue. He obeyed, thinking he should probably be sent with some message to Mrs. Morgan.

He found Mrs. Graham in a state of nervous excitement.

"My husband has been stricken with paralysis," she said. "It is terribly sudden. He went out yesterday, apparently in vigorous health. He was brought home pale and helpless."

"Can I do anything for him or you?" asked Frank.

"Yes; you can go at once to my daughter, and summon her to her father's bedside."

Frank was surprised, remembering how obdurate Mrs. Graham had described her husband to be.

"You look surprised," she said; "but sickness often produces a great change in us. My husband's pride has given way. His affection has returned; and it is at his request that I send for Ellen."

Frank had come to feel a personal interest in the family, and he gladly set out for the modest home in West Twentieth street. He felt that it was pleasant to be a messenger of reconciliation.

Mrs. Morgan recognized him at once, and received him cordially.

"Do you come from my mother?" she asked.

"Yes. She wishes you to come home at once."

"But—my father."

"Your father is very sick; and he joins in the request."

"It has come at last,—the time I have looked forward to for so long," said Ellen Morgan, clasping her hands. "Robert, do you feel equal to looking after the children while I am gone?"

"Yes, Ellen. Go at once. God grant that your father's heart may be softened, for your sake. For myself I am content to live in poverty; but I don't like to see you suffer."

"What is the matter with father? Did my mother tell you?"

Frank explained, and thus gave her fresh cause for anxiety.

On reaching her father's chamber she was shocked by his changed appearance; but her heart was gladdened by the wan smile that lighted up his face, assuring her that she was welcome. From the doctor she received the assurance that her father was in no immediate danger. Indeed, he expressed a confident hope that Mr. Graham would rally from his present attack, and be able to go about his business again, though caution would be required against undue excitement or fatigue.

The doctor's prediction was verified. Mr. Graham recovered; but his old pride and obduracy did not come back. He became reconciled to his son-in-law, and provided him a well-paid position in his own mercantile establishment, and provided rooms in the Madison-avenue mansion for the little family whom Frank had first visited in the squalid tenement-house in Fourteenth street, and the glad voices of children made the house no longer lonely.

"You must call and see us often," said Ellen Morgan to our hero. "I shall always remember you as the messenger who brought us good tidings at the darkest hour in our fortunes. We shall always welcome you as a friend."