the sight of the waiting child he stood still, and the expression of
his face changed from sour annoyance to annoyed surprise.

"Eh? Well?" he exclaimed, looking closely at Ida, his eye-brows
contracting.

"I have a letter for Mr. Abra'm Woodstock, sir."

"Well, give it here. Who's it from?"

"Mrs. Starr, sir."

"Who's Mrs. Starr? Come in here, will you?"

His short and somewhat angry tone was evidently in some degree the
result of the interview that had just closed, but also pretty clearly
an indication of his general manner to strangers. He let the child pass
him, and followed her into the room with the letter in his hand. He did
not seem able to remove his eyes from her face. Ida, on her side, did
not dare to look up at him. He was a massively built, grey-headed man
of something more than sixty. Everything about him expressed strength
and determination, power alike of body and mind. His features were
large and heavy, but the forehead would have become a man of strong
intellect; the eyes were full of astonishing vital force, and the chin
was a physiognomical study, so strikingly did its moulding express
energy of character. He was clean-shaven, and scarcely a seam or
wrinkle anywhere broke the hard, smooth surface of his visage, its
complexion clear and rosy as that of a child.

Still regarding Ida, he tore open the envelope. At the sight of the
writing he, not exactly started, but moved his head rather suddenly,
and again turned his eyes upon the messenger.

"Sit down," he said, pointing to a chair. The room was an uncomfortable
office, with no fire. He himself took a seat deliberately at a desk,
whence he could watch Ida, and began to read. As he did so, his face
remained unmoved, but he looked away occasionally, as if to reflect.

"What's your name?" he asked, when he had finished, beginning, at the
same time, to tear the letter into very small pieces, which he threw
into a waste-paper basket.

"Ida, sir,--Ida Starr."

"Starr, eh?" He looked at her very keenly, and, still looking, and
still tearing up the letter, went on in a hard, unmodulated voice.
"Well, Ida Starr, it seems your mother wants to put you in the way of
earning your living." The child looked up in fear and astonishment.
"You can carry a message? You'll say to your mother that I'll undertake
to do what I can for you, on one condition, and that is that she puts
you in my hands and never sees you again."

"Oh, I can't leave mother!" bur