day! It sets a
fellow thinking,--if he ever had a home, and then hasn't got a home any
more."

"It's more lonesome not to eat at all," said the old man, his gray eyes
twinkling. "And what can a boy like you have to think of? Here, I guess
I can find one cent for you--though there's nothing in the paper, I
know."

The old man spoke with some feeling, his fingers trembled, and somehow
he dropped two cents instead of one into Bert's hand.

"Here! you've made a mistake!" cried Bert. "A bargain's a bargain.
You've given me a cent too much!"

"No, I didn't,--I never give anybody a cent too much!"

"But--see here!" And Bert showed the two cents, offering to return one.

"No matter," said the old man. "It will be so much less for _my_
dinner--that's all."

Bert had instinctively pocketed the pennies, but his sympathies were
excited.

"Poor old man!" he thought; "he's seen better days, I guess. Perhaps
he's no home. A boy like me can stand it, but I guess it must be hard
for him. He meant to give me the odd cent, all the while; and I don't
believe he has had a decent dinner for many a day."

All this, which I have been obliged to write out slowly in words, went
through Bert's mind like a flash. He was a generous little fellow, and
any kindness shown him, no matter how trifling, made his heart overflow.

"Look here," he cried; "where are _you_ going to get your dinner,
to-day?"

"I can get a bite here as well as anywhere--it don't matter much to me,"
replied the old man.

"Come; eat dinner with me," said Bert, "I'd like to have you."

"I'm afraid I couldn't afford to dine as you are going to," said the
man, with a smile, his eyes twinkling again.

"I'll pay for your dinner!" Bert exclaimed. "Come! we don't have a
Thanksgiving but once a year, and a fellow wants a good time then."

"But you are waiting for another boy."

"Oh! Hop Houghton. He won't come now, it's too late. He's gone to a
place down in North street, I guess,--a place I don't like, there's so
much tobacco smoked and so much beer drank there." Bert cast a final
glance up the street, but could see nothing of his friend.

"No, he won't come now. So much the worse for him! He likes the men down
there; I don't."

"Ah!" said the man, taking off his hat and giving it a brush with his
elbow as they entered the restaurant, as if trying to appear as
respectable as he could in the eyes of a newsboy of such fastidious
tastes.

To make him feel quite c