h, I say!" the newsboy's voice changed instantly. "Don't cry, kid. If you say your name is Sunny Boy, all right, it is. And I'll even have it you live at the Macnapin Hotel, though where that is is more than I know. Quit crying, I tell you; you're going home along with me."

Sunny Boy continued to stare at him, the tears slowly chasing down his cheeks.

"I want my mother!" he sobbed forlornly.

"All right, all right, I'll get her for you," promised the distracted older boy. "You leave it to Tim Harrity, and there won't nothing happen to you. Only quit crying, because folks are beginning to look at you. Come on. I'm through for the night."

Sunny Boy slipped a hot little hand into Tim's.

"Where we going?" he quavered.

"Home," said Tim Harrity briefly. "When I'm sold out, I go home. You come along now, and don't talk because I'm trying to figure out what hotel you belong at."

Sunny Boy trotted beside Tim, obediently silent. He was so tired that his feet stumbled, but he plodded on, keeping a tight clutch on his friend's hand.

Suddenly Tim stopped short and gave a shout.

"I have it!" he cried, snapping his fingers excitedly. "I'll bet what you're trying to say is the 'McAlpin'! Aren't you staying at the McAlpin Hotel?"

"Why, yes," admitted Sunny Boy, surprised. "I told you so."

Tim was in high good humor at his cleverness in solving the riddle, and he hurried Sunny Boy down the street as fast as he could go. Presently they came to a smaller street and turned the corner. The houses were very close together, and it seemed to Sunny that at least three people were hanging out of every window. Babies toddled all over the sidewalk, and in one place, where a pushcart had broken down, a swarm of little children quarreled over a heap of half-rotten pears.

"Here we are," announced Tim, steering Sunny Boy up the rickety steps of a sagging brick house. "Go careful, 'cause you're not used to the stairs. And don't take hold of the railing—it's weak."

Sunny Boy felt his way up three pairs of dark stairs behind Tim, and when they reached the third floor a door opened to let a flood of light out on them.

"That you, Tim?" some one called. "You're late. I set the stew back to keep it hot. Glory be, and who is it you're bringing home with you?"

Sunny Boy blinked. The room was hot and the glaring light blinded him. He was dizzily aware that a great many people stood around staring at him.

Tim pulled his hand free.

"The rest of you get back," he commanded his family sternly. "Where's Ma? This kid's lost, and if you don't want him crying again, keep away till Ma's had a chance to tell him what's what."

Then from out another room stepped a large woman with a great kind red face. She was drying her hands on her apron, and she had evidently been washing, for her purple wrapper was splashed with soap-suds. But her voice went right to Sunny's heart.

"Lost, is it?" she said tenderly. "Saints above, what a baby to be out alone in this city! An' his poor mother, the saints pity her she'll be that wild. There, there, dearie, you're all right. A bit of supper's what you're needin'. And then 'tis Timmie himself who shall be taking ye home."

She gathered Sunny Boy into her capacious lap and crooned over him in the deep rich voice that her own six children knew and loved without realizing its charm.

"'Tis a cruel city to the babies," she sighed, smoothing Sunny Boy's hair with a touch as gentle as that of his own mother's. "But your poor mother—the saints help her. Timmie, ye must not be waiting a minute. Come, Theresa, give him a sup of stew. We must be taking him home before the heart of the mother is broke entirely."

Tim, who had been noisily washing at the sink, was frowning into the cracked mirror above it as he tried to part his hair exactly in the center.

"I want to telephone first," he explained. "He's after giving me such a crazy name—Sunny Boy, I've doped it out that he belongs at the McAlpin Hotel, but there's no reason why I should make a fool of myself by taking him 'way down there and then being told that no child is lost from there."

A pretty, dark-haired girl, Sunny Boy called her a young lady in his mind, was stirring something at the stove. She wore a pink blouse and was smiling.

"I'll bring him some stew over there, Ma," she suggested. "The children have mussed up the table pretty well, and they'd take his appetite away with their eyes. Can't you stand back a bit?" she demanded of the four children, three little boys and a girl, who stood in a ring about Sunny Boy and their mother, gazing fixedly at the stranger.

"I'll eat first, I guess," decided Timmie. "I didn't get me a crumb of lunch, and after I've told his folks he's safe they'll be wanting to see him the next minute. Just give me a taste of the stew on some bread, Theresa."

Theresa had already taken her mother a plate for Sunny, and now she gave her brother his supper. The stew was hot and really delicious, and Sunny Boy was sure he had never tasted anything so good. Mrs. Harrity held the plate for him and patted him now and then as he ate. The Harrity children edged nearer and nearer, till a frown from their mother drove them back.

"Going now," announced Tim, seizing his cap.

He slammed the door with such force that the plates on the table rattled, but no one seemed to mind it. They could hear him cheerfully whistling as he clattered downstairs.

Theresa put some water on to heat for the dishes, and came over near her mother and Sunny Boy. She took the little girl on her lap.

"Timmie will help you all right," she assured Sunny Boy, nodding and smiling at him encouragingly. "Tim's a great lad for seeing things through. How did he come to find you?"

Sunny Boy explained.

"Well, well," said Mrs. Harrity. "If you're not used to it, the subway's built for confusin' ye. But Marty there, he's seven next birthday, he can get about as well as the next one."

Marty grinned and wriggled uneasily.

"I'm five," said Sunny Boy conversationally.

"Five now, well, well," repeated Mrs. Harrity. "Rose over there is five. Jim's eight and Thomas, he that's licking the gravy spoon, is nine. An' a fine, noisy bunch they do be. The kettle is boilin', Theresa."

Theresa put her little sister down, and rolling back the sleeves of her pink waist, began to gather up the dishes. Thomas had to be made to give up the gravy spoon, which he was apparently enjoying very much.

Theresa had just poured the water over the dishes in the pan and was folding up the tablecloth, when the noise of some one falling upstairs startled them.

"That's Timmie," declared Mrs. Harrity excitedly. "The boy's in such a hurry to tell his news he can't wait to walk. He'll be prayin' for wings. Open the door, Marty."

Tim dashed in, so out of breath that for several seconds he couldn't tell them the news. When he could speak, he fairly danced up and down, snapping his fingers at Sunny Boy to emphasize his words.

"It's all right!" he gasped. "I found 'em, Ma. They want me to bring Sunny Boy right down. They were just going to the police—seems they spent an hour or two riding up an' down in the subway looking for him and asking all the guards."

The Harritys had all gathered in a circle again.

"Let the kid breathe," protested Tim. "Say, Ma, I had a great time getting 'em. I called the hotel, and the switchboard operator thought I was stringing her. I knew that 'Sunny Boy' was a fool name to tell anybody, but when she got fresh I made her give me the clerk.

"'Has anybody down there lost a child?' I asks. 'There's a boy at my house says his name's Sunny Boy and he's lost.'"

"'Well, find out the rest of his name,' snaps the clerk. And say, young feller," Tim pretended to glare at Sunny Boy, "next time you get lost you want to have a name folks can get quicker than the one you're wearing now."

"Hurry up," urged Theresa impatiently. "Did you find his mother?"

"I'm hurrying," retorted Tim. "Leave a feller alone, can't you? I heard the clerk say to some one. 'Here's a nut says he has a lost child; you don't know anything about it, do you?'"

"I couldn't hear what the other one said, and then, all of a sudden, some one shouts. 'For the love of Pete, hold that wire! Are you dumb? The Hortons lost their kid in the subway coming down this afternoon.'"

"Then what happened?" asked Theresa.

"Nothing much," answered Tim, who like some other story tellers always stopped short when the story got exciting. "The clerk told me to hold the call, and I heard him ordering the girl to put me on another wire. A man answered, an' he didn't give me time to say more than 'Sunny Boy' when he sang out; 'All right, Mother, the boy's been found.' Then I told him where we were, and he says should he send a taxi, but I told him the subway'd make better time. We can take an express. And that's about all, I guess."

"Well you must be hurrying off," said Mrs. Harrity. "Let me polish his face a bit, so they won't think he's been neglected entirely, an' then the two of yese must be goin'. 'Tis glad I am that his mother won't have to live through a night wondering if harm's come to him."

Mrs. Harrity washed Sunny Boy's face and hands carefully and brushed his hair with a brush that was probably the family hairbrush and certainly showed signs of much use. She kissed him heartily when he was ready, and he put his arms about her neck and hugged her.

"Hurry up," urged Tim, pulling him toward the door. "Cut the good-byes short, for I can't be accused of wasting time on this trip."

"Tim," whispered Theresa, "Timmie, you sure you have enough?"

Tim rattled the change in his pockets by way of answer.

"Plenty," he said proudly. "I wasn't after giving Ma any to-night. When I come back I'll fix it up with her. We're off now—watch your step."

The whole Harrity family stood at the top of the stairs and watched them go down.

"Good-bye!" cried the children, losing their shyness as Sunny Boy went further away. "Good-bye, Sunny Boy!"

Sunny Boy waved his hand. Tim was hurrying him down so fast that he was in danger of tripping if he turned. At the very foot of the stairs he stopped and looked up. Mrs. Harrity was leaning over the railing.

"A blessin' on ye, darlin'," she called. "Good-bye."