regretfully.

"It might have been much worse. You've got forty-five dollars left
yet. Do you want any of it?"

"You may give me five more."

Paul drew a five-dollar bill from his pocket and handed it to Julius.

"By the way, Julius," he said "where do you expect to sleep to-night?"

"In the lodgin' house."

"Come up and stop with me. We can find room for you. Besides, my
mother will give you a good supper."

"You are very kind to me, Paul," said Julius, gratefully.

"I ought to be. You did us all a great service. You must stay with us
till it is time for you to go out West."

Julius made some faint objections, out of bashfulness; but he was so
pleasantly received by Mrs. Hoffman, and treated with so much
kindness, that he came to feel quite at home, and needed no urging
after the first night. Jimmy asked him a multitude of questions about
the burglars, how they looked and how they lived, to which Julius
answered patiently.

"When you are out West, you must write to us how you are getting
along, Julius," said Mrs. Hoffman, kindly.

Julius blushed, and did not answer. He seemed much embarrassed.

"Won't you?" asked Jimmy.

"I don't know how to write!" said Julius at last, feeling suddenly
ashamed of his ignorance.

"Such a big boy as you can't write?" said Jimmy, in amazement.

"There is plenty of time to learn," said Paul, cheerfully. "Julius has
had no chance to learn yet, but after he gets to the West he will make
it up."

The mortification which Julius felt at his ignorance made him
determine to study hard whenever he could. He felt that if he wanted
to occupy a respectable position in society, he must, at least, know
how to read and write.

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE POOR ARTIST.

A week later Julius started for the West with a company of boys who
went out under the auspices of the Children's Aid Society. His
adventures out West will make the subject of another volume.

On the day succeeding his departure Paul was at his stand, when his
attention was drawn to a man of respectable appearance, but poorly
clad, and thin and emaciated, who, after a little hesitation, accosted
a gentleman who was passing, in these words: "Sir, I hope you will
excuse my liberty in addressing you, but I have been sick, and am
without money. Can you spare me a trifle?"

"I never give to street beggars," said the gentleman, coldly.

The applicant shrank back abashed, and a look of pain and
mortification overspread hi