sharp features, a brown leather face, thin lank
black hair, and eyes like a snake, drew back from the door, as Algernon
thus unceremoniously effected an entrance. His partner in penury, the
miser, was seated at an old oak table making arithmetical calculations
upon a bit of broken slate.

The tall stately figure of Mark Hurdlestone was, at this period, still
unbent with age, and he rose from his seat, his face flushed with anger
at being detected in sanctioning an untruth. His quick eye recognised
his brother, and he motioned to him to take a seat on the bench near
him.

It was not in the nature of the miser to consider Algernon a welcome
visitor. He was continually haunted by the recollection of the ten
thousand pounds that remorse had extorted from him, in the evil hour
when death stared him in the face, and the fear of future punishment,
for a brief season, triumphed over the besetting sin. He could not
forgive Algernon for this dreadful sacrifice; and but for very shame
would have asked him to return the money, giving him a bond to restore
it at his death.

"Well, brother," he began, in his usual ungracious tones, "what business
brings you here?"

"I came to ask of you a favor," said Algernon, seating himself, and
drawing the little Anthony between his knees; "one which I hope that you
will not refuse to grant."

"Humph!" said Mark. "I must tell you, without mincing the matter brother
Algernon, that I never grant favors in any shape. That I never ask
favors of any one. That I never lend money, or borrow money. That I
never require security for myself of others, or give my name as security
to them. If such is your errand to me you may expect, what you will
find--disappointment."

"Fortunately my visit to you has nothing to do with money. Nor do I
think that the favor I am about to ask will cause you to make the least
sacrifice. Will you give me this boy?"

The novel request created some surprise, it was so different from the
one the miser expected. He looked from the ragged child to his
fashionably-dressed brother, then to the child again, as if doubtful
what answer to return. The living brown skeleton, Pike, slipped softly
across the room to his side; and a glance of peculiar meaning shot from
his rat-like eyes, into the dark, deep-set, searching orbs of the miser.

"What do you think of it, Pike? Hey!"

"It is too good an offer to be refused," whispered the avaricious
satellite, who always looked upon