ssed swiftly for Nat. He made good progress at the evening
school, and Mr. Garwell was correspondingly pleased. Every day the real
estate broker trusted Nat more and more, until the lad occupied a truly
responsible position.

One day Nat was sent to Brooklyn, to have a certain document signed by a
lady of wealth.

"You must get Mrs. Parloe's signature to this, Nat," said his employer,
"and get somebody to witness the signature, and sign here," he added.

"Yes, sir."

"The paper is valuable, and I don't want you to let it go out of your
sight," went on John Garwell.

"I'll take care to keep my eye on it," answered Nat.

He was soon on his way, and after crossing the Brooklyn Bridge, took a
street car to the address given him. It was a fine brownstone house,
with elegant lace curtains at the windows.

"Does Mrs. Parloe live here?" he asked of the girl who came to the door.

"Yes, sir."

"I would like to see her on business," and Nat handed out a card on
which was printed:

JOHN WILBUR GARWELL,
Real Estate Broker.

_Represented by_
NATHANIEL M. NASON.

The girl told Nat to take a seat, and went off with the card. He waited
for fully five minutes, during which he heard a low murmur of voices in
a back room. Then a tall, dark-eyed man came forward.

"What do you wish of Mrs. Parloe?" he questioned, abruptly.

"Excuse me, but my business is with the lady," answered Nat, politely.
He had been told to transact business with Mrs. Parloe and with nobody
else.

"Oh! I suppose you came about that property," went on the dark-eyed man,
surlily. "If you did, let me tell you, it won't do any good."

To this our hero made no reply.

"Mrs. Parloe will see you upstairs," said the girl, returning, and
showed Nat the way up. The dark-eyed man started to follow, but the girl
called him back.

"Mrs. Parloe wished you to remain below, Mr. Cameron," she said.

At this the man uttered something under his breath which Nat could not
catch. Evidently, he was very angry, and he went into a side room,
slamming the door after him.

Nat found Mrs. Parloe sitting in an easy chair by a front window. She
was something of an invalid and rather old.

"I am glad to see you, Mr. Nason," said she. "Take a seat."

"Thank you," returned Nat. "Here is a note for you from Mr. Garwell,"
and he passed it over.

The old lady read the communication carefully, nodding to herself as she
did so. Then she turned again to our