-high to a
grasshopper. No, you don't, sonny!" he broke off as his charge was
sliding toward the door. "You've got to stay here now and have a nice
lady learn you how to read and write and cipher."

The boy looked up at his captor with the wide, desperate eyes of an
animal at bay, recognizing his helplessness, but determined to bite and
fight to the very end.

"Will you look at that now?" the Truant Officer exclaimed; "he thinks
every one's going to hurt him. That's the way some of those kids feel."

"Oh, he'll soon get over that here," the Principal laughed. "I've seen
them much wilder on their first appearance. The teachers know how to
handle them."

Left alone with his new charge, the Principal turned and studied him.
The boy was in the corner, his eyes fixed on the closed door, his whole
little body tense. His visible clothing consisted of a man's coat, cut
short at the sleeves and pinned across the breast. The child was so
small that this reached far below his knees, where it was supplemented
by ragged stockings and shoes. He was unkempt and dirty, even according
to the unexacting East Side's standard. But there was something about
the poise of his head and the slow, lithe movements of his body that
differentiated him from the ordinary street waif. There was no fear in
him--no pleading, no snivelling, nothing but a harsh, almost mature,
defiance.

"Come here!" said the Principal. At the sound of his voice the child
turned and looked at him, and the man found himself returning the cool
regard of a pair of violet-blue eyes. Blue eyes picked up in the heart
of that dusky neighborhood, where he had learned to expect all
children's eyes to be either black or brown!

"I wonder what he is, and where he comes from," he sighed, as he rang
the bell and summoned the teacher who generally acted as his
interpreter. "David Copperfield's poor old friend, Mr. Dick, would find
plenty of use for his famous prescription, 'wash him,' if he were in my
place."

Miss Rosen soon arrived and began her usual inquiries as to name, age,
residence. The little stranger heard her through, and then he uttered a
sharp three or four word sentence, clear cut, imperious; and Miss Rosen,
a sweet and portly lady of fifteen years' faithful teaching, flushed to
the edge of her hard black pompadour, and stared, incredulous, at the
ragged form before her.

"Well," said the Principal, as she made no effort at translation. "What
does he say?"

"