y, my good fellow, all the truth. You say
that Hector stole the money which your uncle lost."

"Yes; but he has made my uncle believe that I took it. It is hard upon
me," said Jim, pathetically, "as I was dependent upon my uncle. I have
been driven forth into the cold world by my benefactor because your
nephew prejudiced his mind against me."

"I believe him, papa," said Guy, who was only too glad to believe
anything against Hector. "I have thought all along that Hector was
guilty."

"Is that your son?" asked the crafty Jim. "I wish he had come to the
institute, instead of Hector. He is a boy that I couldn't help liking."

There are few who are altogether inaccessible to flattery. At any rate,
Guy was not one of this small number.

"I feel sure you are not guilty," said Guy, regarding Jim graciously.
"It was a very mean thing in Hector to get you into trouble."

"It was, indeed," said Jim. "I am cast out of my uncle's house, and now
I have no home, and hardly any money."

"Hector is in the city. Have you seen him?" asked Allan Roscoe.

"Yes; I met him a few minutes since."

"Did you speak to him?"

"Yes; I reproached him for getting me into trouble, but he only laughed
in my face. He told me he hated you both," added Jim, ingenuously.

"Just like Hector!" said Guy. "What have I always told you, papa?"

"I am sorry you have suffered such injustice at the hands of anyone in
any way connected with my family," said Mr. Roscoe, who, like Guy, was
not indisposed to believe anything to the discredit of Hector. "I do
not feel responsible for his unworthy acts, but I am willing to show my
sympathy by a small gift."

He produced a five-dollar note and put it into Jim's ready hand.

"Thank you, sir," he said. "You are a gentleman."

So the interview closed, and Jim left the spot, chuckling at the manner
in which he had wheedled so respectable a sum out of Allan Roscoe.

Meanwhile Hector, after looking about him, turned, and, getting into
a Broadway stage, rode uptown as far as Twenty-third Street, where
the stage turned down toward Sixth Avenue. He concluded to walk the
remainder of the way.

As he was walking up Madison Avenue, his attention was drawn to a little
girl in charge of a nursemaid. The latter met an acquaintance and forgot
her charge. The little girl, left to herself, attempted to cross the
street just as a private carriage was driven rapidly up the avenue. The
driver was looking away, and it seeme