isappeared again, folded her arms and looked
toward the eager-faced boy opposite, in a helpless sort of way.

"What did she mean by that, Miss Lucy?"

Then she told him. How for several days before she had herself heard
it, there had been a most mysterious ringing at the front door-bell;
that the servants had as often answered the summons, yet found nobody
demanding admittance; that they believed there was some ghostly
influence at work; that being superstitious, like all the colored
race, they had decided it would be unsafe for them to remain in the
house; that at frequent intervals, all last night and now this
morning, as Lionel had himself observed, the ringing had again
occurred.

"It's very, very distracting and uncomfortable. I'm quite upset by it,
and don't know what to do."

"It's electric, ain't it?"

"What? The bell? Yes, certainly."

"Then I'd send for a 'lectrician. He'd find out the trouble in a
jiffy. But, shucks! wouldn't it be prime!"

"What would be prime?" Yet Miss Lucy sighed in relief, as she added:
"What an extremely simple thing; and why didn't I think of it before?"

"Don't know, except 'cause you didn't."

"Hm'm. Immediately after breakfast I'll send for a man. Now--my
goodness! What's all this?"

The glances of both flew to the windows which were on a level with the
street. There were four of these lace-draped windows, two in front and
two upon the side. At each was a small face peering in, and at some
there were two faces.

Towsley forgot everything. All the changed conditions of his life, his
determination to be very thoughtful of Miss Lucy, the gentlemanly
behavior which belonged to a boy who lived in the finest house upon
the Avenue. They were faces that he knew,--every one! They, were the
faces of Shiner, and Battles, and Toothless, and Whistling Jerry.
Behind these, Tom the Bugler, and Larry Lameleg.

His friends were they, his jolly little comrades; who had heard of
what had befallen him and had come to condole with him. The mere sight
of them brought back the atmosphere so familiar to him: of the alleys
and their freedom, of Newspaper Square with its hurry and bustle and
eager life! It was too much for Towsley, and with a shout of rapture
he rushed to the basement entrance, out upon the street, into the very
arms of his mates.

"Say, it was true, then, ain't it?" demanded Tom the Bugler. "What was
in our paper last night, and that our man saw up in the park? You
dressed