was debating what might be done for the
promising eldest girl in his aunt's family and for the two boys. Once,
it is true, the throng of children that obstructed his path, as they
chased one another round and round in a maze, did suggest to him that
from Miss Callender's standpoint he ought to do something "for those
less fortunate than himself" even beyond the circle of relationship. But
what could he do? He felt that by his very nature he was disqualified
for contact and personal sympathy with humanity rough-hewn. And as he
crossed Avenue A, and paused to look up and down it, he saw such
inexhaustible swarms of people that what one man could do for them
seemed of no avail. He might give something to some mission or other
agency, and thus get the disagreeables of benevolence done, as he got
his boots blacked, by paying for it. Then he wondered what Miss
Callender would think of such a device, and whether in the luminous
moral atmosphere which enveloped her it would seem mean to substitute a
money service for a personal one--to employ a substitute when you have
no stomach for the war yourself.

He climbed the flights of dark stairs to his aunt's dwelling, which
occupied half of the next to the top floor of a four-story building; the
flat above being the dwelling and working-place of a slop-shop tailor.
He was welcomed with sincere affection by Aunt Hannah Martin, and with
shouts of delight by the two smaller children--the two older ones had
not yet come back from Sunday-school. Mr. Martin, a tallish and rather
broad-shouldered man, with a face whose habitual seriousness was
deepened into a tombstone solemnity by its breadth and flatness in the
region of the cheek-bones, shook hands cordially, but with a touch of
reserve in favor of his own dignity, saying, "How are you, Charley?
How's things with you?" He was proud enough of his connection with a
prosperous man like Millard, and among his comrades in the shop he often
affected to settle points in dispute regarding finance or the ways of
people in high life by gravely reminding the others that he had superior
opportunities for knowing, since his nephew was a banker and "knew all
the rich men in Wall street." But face to face with Charley Millard his
pride was rendered uneasy, and he generally managed to have some
pressing occasion for absenting himself on the afternoons of Millard's
visits.

Millard's attentions were soon engrossed by the little boy Tommy, who of
all