n some time," said she, in a low tone, so that Johnny
could not hear her.

"Never mind 'em, Katy. Don't go hungry again for a minute. Come to me,
and I'll help you to something or other."

"Thank you, Tommy;" and with a lighter heart than she had brought with
her, she hastened up the pier, no doubt anticipating a rich feast from
the string of fish.

The pier of the new South Boston bridge was then, as now, a favorite
resort for juvenile fishermen. Flounders, tom-cod, and eels, to say
nothing of an occasional sculpin, which boys still persist in calling
"crahpies," or "crahooners," used to furnish abundant sport to a motley
group of youngsters wherein the sons of merchants mingled
democratically with the dirty, ragged children of the "Ten-footers" in
the vicinity. The pier was neutral ground, and Frederic Augustus made a
friend of Michael or Dennis, and probably neither was much damaged by
this free companionship; for Michael or Dennis often proves to be more
of a gentleman in his rags and dirty face than Frederic Augustus in his
broadcloth and white linen.

Katy walked as fast as her little feet would carry her, till she came
to a court leading out of Essex Street. The bells were ringing for one
o'clock as she entered the grocery at the corner and purchased the
two-cent roll which Tommy Howard's bounty enabled her to add to her
feast. Elated with the success of her mission, she quickened her pace
up the court to a run, rushed into the house and up-stairs to her
mother's room with as much enthusiasm as though she had found a bag of
gold, instead of having obtained a very simple dinner.

"O, mother, I've got a lot of flounders and some bread for you!"
exclaimed she, as she bolted into the room.

"Then you have money," said a cold voice in the chamber; and Katy
perceived, standing near the bed on which her mother lay, a man who was
no stranger to her.

It was Dr. Flynch; but let not my young reader make a mistake. He was
no good Samaritan, who had come to pour oil and wine into the wounds of
the poor sick woman; not even a physician, who had come to give
medicine for a fee, to restore her to health and strength. It is true
he was called a doctor, and he had been a doctor, but he did not
practice the healing art now. If he had failed to make a physician, it
was not because his heart was so tender that he could not bear to look
upon pain and suffering. He was the agent of Mrs. Gordon, a widow lady,
who owned the hou