ed confidentially, "when did you come from the
country?"

"This morning," said Paul, wondering how a stranger should know that he
was a country boy.

"Could you tell me what is the price of potatoes up your way?" asked the
other boy, with perfect gravity.

"I don't know," said Paul, innocently.

"I'm sorry for that," said the other, "as I have got to buy some for my
wife and family."

Paul stared in surprise for a moment, and then realizing that he was
being made game of, began to grow angry.

"You'd better go home to your wife and family," he said with spirit, "or
you may get hurt."

"Bully for you, country!" answered the other with a laugh. "You're not
as green as you look."

"Thank you," said Paul, "I wish I could say as much for you."

Tired with walking, Paul at length sat down in a doorway, and watched
with interest the hurrying crowds that passed before him. Everybody
seemed to be in a hurry, pressing forward as if life and death depended
on his haste. There were lawyers with their sharp, keen glances;
merchants with calculating faces; speculators pondering on the chances
of a rise or fall in stocks; errand boys with bundles under their arms;
business men hurrying to the slip to take the boat for Brooklyn or
Jersey City,--all seemed intent on business of some kind, even to the
ragged newsboys who had just obtained their supply of evening papers,
and were now crying them at the top of their voices,--and very
discordant ones at that, so Paul thought. Of the hundreds passing and
repassing before him, every one had something to do. Every one had a
home to go to. Perhaps it was not altogether strange that a feeling of
desolation should come over Paul as he recollected that he stood alone,
homeless, friendless, and, it might be, shelterless for the coming
night.

"Yet," thought he with something of hopefulness, "there must be
something for me to do as well as the rest."

Just then a boy some two years older than Paul paced slowly by, and
in passing, chanced to fix his eyes upon our hero. He probably saw
something in Paul which attracted him, for he stepped up and extending
his hand, said, "why, Tom, how came you here?"

"My name isn't Tom," said Paul, feeling a little puzzled by this
address.

"Why, so it isn't. But you look just like my friend, Tom Crocker."

To this succeeded a few inquiries, which Paul unsuspiciously answered.

"Do you like oysters?" inquired the new-comer, after a while.

"Ver