nother instant the runaway horse was fairly on top of the
lad.

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE WORK OF A REAL HERO.

Jerry's heart was in his throat when he sprang to the rescue of the little
child in the street. He saw that the horse attached to the ice-wagon could
not be stopped and realized only too well what it meant should he be
struck down.

Yet the sight of that innocent face nerved him on, and in less time than
it takes to write it he had the child in his arms. Clinging to the little
one, he flung himself backward, and like a flash the horse sprang past,
dragging the ice-wagon so close that the wheels scraped his leg.

A shout went up from the crowd, but Jerry did not hear what was said.
Staggering up, he ran back to the sidewalk, leaving the baby-carriage a
wreck behind him.

In another moment the girl who had given the first cry of alarm was at
Jerry's side.

"Is he hurt? Is little Tommy hurt?" she cried, as she snatched the
youngster from Jerry's arms.

"Me fell in the dirt," lisped the little one. "Me ain't hurt, but me awful
dirty."

"Never mind the dirt, dear," cried the girl. "I am thankful you escaped.
Mary, why didn't you take better care of him?"

The last words were addressed to an Irish girl who had just sauntered up.

"I went to get a hoky-poky at the corner," replied the girl. "I don't care
to mind yer brother any more anyway," she added, and darted out of sight
into the crowd.

Seeing the little boy was uninjured, the crowd moved on, and presently the
young oarsman found himself alone with the girl, who appeared to be
several years older than himself.

"You are a brave boy," she said, warmly. "I would like to reward you, but
I am poor."

"I don't want any reward," replied Jerry, stoutly. "It was a close shave,
though."

"You look like a stranger around here."

"I am--I just arrived in New York and I am looking for a boarding-house.
Can you tell me where this one is?" and Jerry showed her the card the lady
had given him.

"Oh, yes; it is one block over to your left--a real nice house, too. May I
ask your name?"

"Jerry Upton."

"Mine is Nellie Ardell, and this is my brother Tommy. We are alone here."

"Haven't you any folks?"

"No. Mother was with us up to last winter, but she had consumption and
died."

The tears stood in Nellie Ardell's eyes as she spoke. Jerry saw at once
that she had had a hard struggle of it.

"What do you do for a living?" he ventured to ask.

"