re merchant of San Francisco,
and of his wife, Felicia, only daughter of Aaron and Deborah Rockharrt,
of Rockhold. They had lost their parents during the prevalence of an
epidemic fever, and had been left to the guardianship of Aaron
Rockharrt. They were now coming, in charge of their Uncle Fabian--who
had been sent to fetch them--to their grandparents' house, which was to
be their home during their minority.

In front of these children sat a man of middle age and a boy of about
twelve years. They seemed to belong to the honorable order of working
men. Their clothing was old, worn and travel-stained. They had been
picked up only at the last past station, and looked as if they had
tramped a long way--weary and dejected. Each wore on his battered hat a
little wisp of a dusty black crape band. This was a circumstance which
much interested the little girl, Corona, who had a longer memory than
her baby brother, and had not yet done grieving after her father and her
mother, and she wanted to speak to the poor boy, and to tell him how
very sorry she was for him, but was much too timid for such a venture.
Neither the boy nor the man looked behind them, and so the children
never saw their faces during the ride to North End. Both parties got out
at the station. The Rockhold carriage was waiting for Fabian and his
charges. Nothing was waiting for the tramp and his son. Mr. Fabian
looked at them, and took in the whole situation. He put his nephew and
niece into the carriage, told the coachman to wait for him, and then
went up to the tramps.

"Looking for work?" he said, addressing the elder.

"Yes, sir," replied the latter, touching his old hat. "I have come a
long way to look for it, and I am bound now for Rockharrt & Sons'
Locomotive Works. Could you be so kind as to direct me where to find
them?"

"About three miles down this side of the river. You cannot miss them if
you follow this road. Stay--I am one of the firm. We have rather more
men than we want just now, but I will give you a line to our manager,
and he will find a place for you, and the boy, also," said plausible,
good-natured, lying, dishonest Fabian Rockharrt, as he drew a card from
his pocket and just wrote above his name:

"Take the bearer and his boy on."

Then on the opposite side of the card he wrote the superscription:
"Timothy Ryland, Manager North End Foundries."

He gave this to the tramp, who touched his hat again, and led off his
boy for their lon