wavered in her decision to take in this
homeless boy and provide for his welfare, but because he did not at
all fit in with her previous ideas of what such a child should be. He
was neither humble nor bold, and now that he had forgotten his shyness
was keen and business-like. He neither complained of his poverty nor
was ashamed of it; and his manner as he walked toward the table and
drew out a chair for Miss Armacost was as gallant as possible.

"That's the checker!" he said to himself. "That's the way I've seen
the gentlemen do in the hotel dining-rooms when I've been peeking
through, or the waiters, I mean. The gentlemen would have done it, if
the waiters hadn't been there, and it goes. Some day, when I own the
papers I sell now, I'll know just how to act. Ma'am--I mean, Miss
Armacost? Did you speak?"

"I--Yes, I did. I thought that as you had had a nap since--since you
had made your toilet, it would be as well to make yourself fresh
before meat. There's a bowl and water in that closet; and towels."

"Well, I declare!" thought the watchful Mary. "If that don't beat all!
'Stead of ordering the little chap to wash himself, or even me to do
it for him, she's treating him same's if he was a Livingston or
Satterlee, himself. And--he's doing it! My land! he's doing it."

Towsley retired to the pantry and drew some water in the bowl. Such
lavatories were familiar enough to him, among the railway stations and
hotel corridors which he frequented to sell his papers, but he had
never seen one more richly appointed than this. He was rather short
for the stationary bowl, but he succeeded in wetting the tips of his
very dirty fingers and drawing them down over his face. This operation
left streaks of a lighter color upon the dusty cheeks and several
dingy marks upon the damask towel which he applied to dry them. With
the silver-backed brush which lay beside the bowl he made a frantic
dab at his tangled hair, shook himself deeper into his over-large
jacket, and presented himself before his hostess.

Concealing a smile at his peculiar appearance she motioned him to his
place, with the remark:

"It is so long past the regular dinner hour that I hardly know which
of these dishes you would like first. But suppose we take the soup.
Shall we begin with that? Eh? No? Don't you care for soup?"

"I like pie better."

Mary smiled, and both mistress and guest observed it. She was promptly
dismissed with the statement that Miss Armacos