ay you want on it?" asked Frank.

"Don't mention my name at all," said the lady, hastily.

"I suppose I shall have to give some name," said Frank, "in order that
the ticket may be made out."

"What is your own name?"

"Frank Kavanagh."

"Have you a mother living?"

"No," said Frank, gravely.

"Then let the ticket be made out in your name."

"If you wish it."

"Shall I bring the money to you, Mrs. Graham?"

"No; my husband might be at home, and it would arouse his suspicions. At
twelve o'clock I will meet you at Madison Park, at the corner opposite
the Union League Club House. You can then report to me your success."

"Very well," said Frank.

He went at once to the pawnbroker mentioned by Mrs. Graham. But for his
uniform he would have been questioned closely as to how he came by the
ring; but telegraph boys are so often employed on similar errands that
the pawnbroker showed no surprise. After a careful examination he agreed
to advance two hundred dollars, and gave Frank the money and the ticket.
When Frank gave his own name, he said, "That is your name, is it not?"

"Yes, sir."

"But the ring does not belong to you?"

"No; it belongs to a lady who does not wish her name known."

"It is all the same to us."

"That was easily done," thought Frank. "Now I must go and meet Mrs.
Graham."

"Have you got the money?" asked Mrs. Graham, anxiously, as Frank made
his appearance.

"Yes," replied Frank.

"How much?"

"The amount you asked for."

"That is well. Now I shall be able to relieve my poor daughter. I cannot
bear to think of her and her poor children suffering for the lack of
bread, while I am living in luxury. I wish Mr. Graham was not so
unforgiving."

"Will you take the money now?" asked Frank.

"I wish you to take fifty dollars to my daughter."

"I will do so with pleasure. What is her address?"

Mrs. Graham drew out a card, on which she had pencilled her daughter's
address. It proved to be a tenement-house on the east side of the city,
not far from Fourteenth street.

"I wish I could go myself," said Mrs. Graham, sadly; "but I do not dare
to do so at present. Give Ellen this money, with my best love; and say
to her that a month hence I will again send her the same sum. Tell her
to keep up good courage. Brighter days may be in store."

"I will be sure to remember," said Frank, in a tone of sympathy.

The errand was to his taste; for he was about to carry help and comfort
to those