e same, I shall be
nabbed some day, and then the family'll be disgraced. It's a queer
life I've led ever since I can remember. Sometimes I feel like leaving
Tim, and settin' up for myself. I wonder how 'twould seem to be
respectable."

The boy approached the secretary, and with some tools he had brought
essayed to open it. After a brief delay he succeeded, and lifted the
cover. He was about to explore it, according to Tim's directions, when
he heard a cry of fear, and turning swiftly saw Florence, her eyes
dilated with terror, gazing at him.

"Who are you?" she asked in alarm, "and what are you doing there?"

Chapter V.
Dodger.

The boy sprang to the side of Florence, and siezed her wrists in his
strong young grasp.

"Don't you alarm the house," he said, "or I'll----"

"What will you do?" gasped Florence, in alarm. The boy was evidently
softened by her beauty, and answered in a tone of hesitation:

"I don't know. I won't harm you if you keep quiet."

"What are you here for?" asked Florence, fixing her eyes on the boy's
face; "are you a thief?"

"I don't know--yes, I suppose I am."

"How sad, when you are so young."

"What! miss, do you pity me?"

"Yes, my poor boy, you must be very poor, or you wouldn't bring
yourself to steal."

"No. I ain't poor; leastways, I have enough to eat, and I have a place
to sleep."

"Then why don't you earn your living by honest means?"

"I can't; I must obey orders."

"Whose orders?"

"Why, the guv'nor's, to be sure."

"Did he tell you to open that secretary?"

"Yes."

"Who is the guv'nor, as you call him?"

"I can't tell; it wouldn't be square."

"He must be a very wicked man."

"Well, he ain't exactly what you call an angel, but I've seen wuss men
than the guv'nor."

"Do you mind telling me your own name?"

"No; for I know you won't peach on me. Tom Dodger."

"Dodger?"

"Yes."

"That isn't a surname."

"It's all I've got. That's what I'm always called."

"It is very singular," said Florence, fixing a glance of mingled
curiosity and perplexity upon the young visitor.

While the two were earnestly conversing in that subdued light,
afforded by the lowered gaslight, Tim Bolton crept in through the door
unobserved by either, tiptoed across the room to the secretary,
snatched the will and a roll of bills, and escaped without attracting
attention.

"Oh, I wish I could persuade you to give up this bad life," resumed
Florence, earnestly, "and