g walk to the works.

Fabian Rockharrt, with his nephew and niece, reached Rockland two hours
later.

Aaron Rockharrt and his younger son, Clarence, were absent, at the
works; but little Mrs. Rockharrt was at home.

Little Cora became the constant companion of the grandmother, who found
her well advanced in learning for a child of seven years. She could
read, write a little, and do easy sums in the first four simple rules of
arithmetic.

A school room was fitted up on the first floor back of the Rockhold
mansion. A nursery governess was found by advertisement.

She was a young and beautiful girl of the wax doll order of beauty, and
of not more than sixteen years of age. In person she was tall, slim and
fair, with red cheeks, blue eyes and yellow hair. Her very name, as well
as her presence, was full of the aromas of Araby the Blest. It was Rose
Flowers.

Rose smiled and bloomed and beamed on all, but most of all on Mr.
Fabian, who was at that time a very handsome and fascinating man of no
more than thirty, and to do her justice, she brought her young pupils
well on in elementary education.

No more was seen or heard of the tramp and his boy, who had come to seek
work at the foundries. They seemed to have been forgotten even by the
little girl whose sympathies had been touched by their appearance on the
train with their own party.

But early in February a catastrophe occurred which brought them back
most painfully to, her memory. There was an explosion in the foundry,
by which the man was instantly killed.

"Uncle Clarence," asked Cora of that person, "where is the boy belonging
to the poor man that was killed? You know they came in the cars with us
to North End Station. Oh! and they were so poor! Oh, and the boy had a
bit of old crape on his old hat! Oh, and I know he had no mother! But I
don't know whether the man was his father or his uncle. But, oh, Uncle
Clarence, dear, where is the boy?"

"I don't know anything about the boy, little one, but I will inquire and
tell you. I think the little chap has two more friends left, dear. You
are one. I am the other."

"Oh, Uncle Clarence, you are a dear ducky-ducky-darling! And when I am a
grown-up woman, I will marry you."

"Oh! well, all right, if you remain in the same mind, and--"

"I will never, never change my mind. I love you better than I do anybody
in the world, except Sylvan and grandma, and Miss Flowers and Tip!"

Clarence kept his word with the ch