s, sir. I was not listening."

"How--how long has it taken you to save up this?"

"I don't know, sir--months."

"Ah!" Then as he held my hand tightly, he said in a half-mocking way,
"Do you know when I came into the office I envied you, my boy, for I
said, Here is one who has begun on the stool, and he'll grow up to be a
rich City man."

"I don't think I shall, sir," I said, with a laugh.

"No," he said, "you are of the wrong stuff, boy. Do you know that you
are a weak young idiot to come and offer me, a perfect stranger, all
that money--a man you have never seen before, and may never see again?
How do you know I am not an impostor?"

"I don't know how, sir," I said, "but I can see you are not."

He pressed my hand more firmly, and I saw his lips move for a few
moments, but no sound came. Then softly--

"Thank you, my lad," he said. "You have given me a lesson. I was
saying that it was a hard and a bitter and cruel world, when you came up
to show me that it is full of hope and sunshine and joy after all if we
only seek it. I don't know who you are, but your father, boy, must have
been a gentleman at heart, and your mother as true a lady as ever
breathed. Ah!"

He bent towards me as he still held my hand, for he must have read the
change in my face, for his words sent a curious pang through me.

"Your mother is--?" He finished his question with a look.

I nodded, and set my teeth hard.

"Now, sir, _please_!" cried a rough voice, as a heavily-laden man came
up, and my companion drew me into the road.

"Tell me your name."

"Gordon, sir," I said. "Mayne Gordon."

"Come and see me--and my wife," he said, taking a card from a shabby
pocket-book. "Come on Sunday evening and have tea with us--Kentish
Town. Will you come?"

"Yes," I said, eagerly.

"That's right. There, I can't talk now. Shake hands. Good-bye."

He wrung my hand hard, and turned hurriedly away, but I was by his side
again.

"Stop," I said. "You have not taken the--the--"

"No," he said, clapping me on the shoulder, "I can't do that. You've
given me something worth a thousand such coins as that, boy as you are--
renewed faith in my fellow-man--better still, patience and hope.
Good-bye, my lad," he said, brightly. "On Sunday, mind. Don't lose
that card."

Before I could speak again he had hurried away, and just then a cold
chill ran through me, and I set off at a run.

Suppose Mr Isaac Dempster should have come out