Sam did not retain his new position long. A week later he was dismissed. Though no reason was assigned, the proprietor probably thought it better to engage a boy with a smaller appetite. But Sam was by no means discouraged. He was more self-reliant than when nearly a year before he entered the city, and more confident of rubbing along somehow. If he could not sell papers, he could black boots. If wholly without capital, he could haunt the neighborhood of the piers, and seek employment as a baggage-smasher.

For the next two years it will be unnecessary to detail Sam's experiences. They did not differ materially from those of other street-boys,—now a day of plenty, now of want, now a stroke of luck, which made him feel rich as a millionnaire, now a season of bad fortune. Day by day, and week by week, his recollections of his country home became more vague, and he could hardly realize that he had ever lived anywhere else than in the streets of New York. It was at this time that the unexpected encounter with Deacon Hopkins brought back the memories of his early life, and led him to contrast them curiously with his present experiences. There did not seem much for Sam to be proud of, ragged vagabond as he was; but for all that he looked down upon his former self with ineffable contempt.

"What a greenhorn I was when I first came to the city!" he reflected. "How easy I was took in! I didn't know nothin' about life then. How sick I was when I smoked my first cigar! Now, I can smoke half a dozen, one after the other, only I can't raise the stamps to buy 'em. How I fooled the deacon, though!" and Sam laughed in hearty enjoyment of the joke. "I wonder what'll he say of me when he gets back."

Sam plunged his hands deep down into his pockets. There was nothing to hinder, for, as usual, they were empty. He had spent the small amount obtained from the deacon, and he was just even with the world. He had neither debts nor assets. He had only daily recurring wants, and these he was not always able to supply.

It was in the afternoon of the day made memorable by his interview with the deacon that another adventure befell Sam. As it exhibits him in a more favorable light than usual, I am glad to chronicle it.

He was lounging about, waiting for something to turn up, when he felt a little hand slipped into his, and heard a small voice pleading, "Take me home. I'm lost."

Sam looked down in surprise to find his hand clasped by a little boy, apparently about four years of age. What attracted him to Sam is uncertain. Possibly his face seemed familiar to the little boy.

"What's your name, Johnny?" asked Sam, gently.

"My name aint Johnny; it's Bertie," said the little boy.

"What's your other name?"

"Dalton."

"Bertie Dalton?"

"Yes. I want to go home."

"So you shall," said Sam, good-naturedly, "if you'll tell me where you live."

"Don't you know?" asked Bertie.

"No."

"I thought you did," said Bertie, disappointed. "I want to go home to mamma."

Sam was puzzled.

"How did you come to be lost?" he asked.

"I went out with Marie—that's the nurse—and when she was talking with another nurse I went to play. Then I couldn't find her, and I'm so frightened."

"Don't be frightened, Bertie," said Sam, gently; for his heart was drawn to the little fellow. "I guess I'll find your home. Let me guess. Do you live in Twentieth street?"

Bertie shook his head.

"Where were you playing?"

"In the Park."

"It must be Union Park," thought Sam.

An idea struck him. He went into a neighboring druggist's, and, asking for a directory, turned to the list of Daltons. There was only one living near Union Park; this one lived on Fourteenth street, between Sixth and Seventh avenues. Sam decided to take the child into this street, and see if he recognized it. The experiment proved successful. Arrived in the street the child cried joyfully:—

"This is where I live."

"Can you find the house?"

"Yes; it's right on," said Bertie.

In brief, Sam took Bertie home. He found the family in great distress. The nurse had returned, and declared incoherently that Master Bertie had been carried off, and she couldn't find him anywhere. A message was about to be sent to the police when the young truant was brought home. The mother clasped him fondly in her arms, and kissed him many times. Then she bethought herself of Sam.

"How can I thank you," she said gratefully, "for bringing my darling home?"

"Oh, it's nothing," said Sam. "I was afraid at first I couldn't find where he lived; but he told me his name, and I looked in the directory."

Mrs. Dalton saw that Sam was ragged, and her grateful heart prompted her to do something for him.

"Have you any place?" she asked.

"No," said Sam.

"Wouldn't you like one?"

"Yes, I should," said Sam, promptly. "It's hard work getting a living about the streets."

"It must be," said the lady, with sympathy. "Have you no friends?"

"None, except poor boys like I am."

"You have been kind to my dear Bertie, and I want to do something to show my gratitude. Without you I shudder to think what might have become of him."

"Nobody'd hurt a little chap like him," said Sam.

"They might steal him," said Mrs. Dalton. "Have you had any dinner?"

"No, ma'am."

"Come into the house. Maggie, see that this boy has a good meal. Take care of him till Mr. Dalton comes home. Then I will see what can be done for him."

"All right, mum."

Sam had no objections to this arrangement. He was never at a loss for an appetite, and the prospect was an attractive one. He made himself at home in the kitchen, where his rescue of little Bertie and the evident favor of Mrs. Dalton made him the recipient of much attention. He felt that he was in luck for once in his life, and was convinced of it when, on the arrival of Mr. Dalton, he was offered the post of errand-boy at five dollars a week, with a present of five dollars in advance. He asked no time for consideration, but accepted at once.

"You may report for service to-morrow morning," said Mr. Dalton. "There is my business-card. Can you find it?"

"I know where it is," said Sam. "I'll be there." Sam's chance had come. He was invited to fill an humble but respectable position. Would he give satisfaction, or drift back after a while to his vagabond habits? Young outlaw as he had been, was he likely to grow into an orderly member of society? If any of my readers are curious on this subject, they are referred to the next volume of this series, entitled

SAM'S CHANCE;

AND HOW HE IMPROVED IT.