der Mrs. Faringfield whispered again, "Poor lad," and even
Madge and little Tom looked solemn.

"Well, boy, something must be done about you, that's certain," said
Mr. Faringfield. "You have no money, my daughter says. Spent all you
had for cakes and kickshaws in the towns where the stage-coach
stopped, I'll warrant."

The boy smiled. "The riding made me hungry sir," said he. "I'd have
saved my extra shilling if I'd known how it was going to be."

"But is there nothing coming to you in Philadelphia? Did your mother
leave nothing?"

"Everything was sold at auction to pay our debts--it took the books
and our furniture and all, to do that."

"The books?"

"We kept a book-shop, sir. My father left it to us. He was a
bookseller, but he was a gentleman and an Oxford man."

"And he didn't make a fortune at the book trade, eh?"

"No, sir. I've heard people say he would rather read his books than
sell them."

"From your studious look I should say you took after him."

"I do like to read, sir," the lad admitted quietly, smiling again.

Here Madge put in, with the very belated query:

"What's your name?"

"Philip Winwood," the boy answered, looking at her pleasantly.

"Well, Master Winwood," said Madge's father, "we shall have to take
you in overnight, at least, and then see what's to be done."

At this Mrs. Faringfield said hastily, with a touch of alarm:

"But, my dear, is it quite safe? The child might--might have the
measles or something, you know."

Madge tittered openly, and Philip Winwood looked puzzled. Mr.
Faringfield answered:

"One can see he is a healthy lad, and cleanly, though he is tired and
dusty from his journey. He may occupy the end garret room. 'Tis an odd
travelling companion you carry, my boy. Did you bring the cat from
Philadelphia?"

"Yes, sir; my mother was fond of it, and I didn't like to leave it
behind."

The kitten drew back from the stately gentleman's attempt to tap its
nose with his finger, and evinced a desire to make the acquaintance of
his wife, toward whom it put forth its head as far as possible out of
its basket, beginning the while to purr.

"Look, mamma, it wants to come to you," cried little Tom, delighted.

"Cats and dogs always make friends quicker with handsome people," said
Philip Winwood, with no other intent than merely to utter a fact, of
which those who observe the lower animals are well aware.

"There, my dear," said Mr. Faringfield, "there's a complim