histle,
that sounded more like a lamentation than the outburst of childish
gladness. His clothes were too thin and worn for his slight frame, for
the morning, though clear and bright, was frosty, and his little bare
toes peeping out of his shoes were blue with the cold. He hurried
through the streets with a bundle of papers, but, even while intent on
their sale, he had the walk of an old man, and his small shoulders
stooped as though they bent under the weight of years.

Redfield eyed him narrowly.

"Paper, sir?"

"So, in this frenzied struggle after bread, you are an itinerant vendor
of periodical literature?"

"You mean I sell papers, sir? Yes. I've only been at it three weeks. I'm
'stuck' this morning. Haven't got a good beat yet. Paper, sir?"

"Have you no fears of risking your commercial character by appearing on
the streets in that unheard-of dress?"

The boy reddened.

"I've been sick," said he, at length, "for a very long time."

"My Lord!" groaned the philosopher; "here's another conspiracy against
my unfortunate pocket-book! Why don't your mother take care of you?"

"She did, sir; but she sews for slop-shops, and has worked so much at
night that she's almost blind."

"Worse and worse! and here's an outfitting establishment just across the
street. When will I acquire anything like habits of prudence? Boy," said
he, fiercely, "you are a young vagabond, and deserve to starve. Your
mother should be put in the pillory for ever marrying. That's what the
world says,--and what I would think, if I wasn't a consummate ass. Were
you ever blessed with a view of the most unmitigated simpleton the sun
ever shone upon? Look at me! Look good: I am worthy of a close
inspection. Now come along, and see to what extent my folly sometimes
carries me."

He caught the boy roughly by the arm, jerked rather than led him across
the street, and thrust him bodily among a crowd of astonished clerks who
stood at the door of a clothing-house.

"Take this young vagrant and put him into new boots, with woolen socks,
some kind of a gray jacket and trowsers, and a hat that's fit for a
civilized age."

Seeing that Redfield was really in earnest, the proprietor obeyed the
order promptly, and in half an hour the boy reappeared, rather red, a
little uncertain, but decidedly altered for the better.

"Now go," cried the cynic, with a smile, and a shake of his hand, "and
thank your stars the fool-killer did not come along before you.