stfully watching it all, stood Sandy, as alert and
distressed as a young hound restrained from the hunt. It is something
to accept punishment gracefully, but to accept punishment when it can
be avoided is nothing short of heroism. Sandy had to shut his eyes and
grip the railing to keep from planning an escape. Spread before him in
brave array across the water lay the promised land--and, like Moses,
he was not to reach it.

"That's the greatest city in America," said the ship's surgeon as he
came up to where he was standing. "What do you think of it?"

"I never seen one stand on end afore!" exclaimed Sandy, amazed.

"Would you like to go ashore long enough to look about?" asked the
doctor, with a smile running around the fat folds of his cheeks.

"And would I?" asked Sandy, his eyes flying open. "It's me word of
honor I'd give you that I'd come back."

"The word of a stowaway, eh?" asked the doctor, still smiling.

In a moment Sandy's face was crimson. "Whatever I be, sir, I ain't a
liar!"

The doctor pursed up his lips in comical dismay: "Not so hot, my man;
not so hot! So you still want to be a doctor?"

Sandy cooled down sufficiently to say that it was the one ambition of
his life.

"I know the physician in charge of the City Hospital here in New York.
He's a good fellow. He'd put you through--give you work and put you in
the way of going to the Medical School. You'd like that?"

"But," cried Sandy, bewildered but hopeful, "I have to go back!"

The doctor shook his head. "No, you don't. I've paid your passage."

Sandy waited a moment until the full import of the words was taken in,
then he grabbed the stout little doctor and almost lifted him off his
feet.

"Oh! But ain't you a brick!" he cried fervently, adding earnestly: "It
ain't a present you're makin' me, though! I'll pay it back, so help me
bob!"

At the pier the crowd of immigrants pushed and crowded impatiently as
they waited for the cabin passengers to go ashore. Among them was
Sandy, bareheaded and in motley garb, laughing and shoving with the
best of them, hanging over the railing, and keeping up a fire of
merriment at the expense of the crowd below. In his hand was a letter
of recommendation to the physician in charge at the City Hospital, and
in his inside pocket a ten-dollar bill was buttoned over a heart that
had not a care in the world. In the great stream of life Sandy was one
of the bubbles that are apt to come to the top.

"You be