he elegant chandeliers, and
the fantastically shaped chairs and tables that adorned Mr. Bayard's
parlor, the length of our story does not permit us to pause over these
trivial matters.

When Ellen Bayard was informed that her little deliverer was in the
house, she rushed into the parlor like a hoiden school girl, grasped
both his hands, kissed both his rosy cheeks, and behaved just as though
she had never been to a boarding school in her life.

She had thought a great deal about Bobby since that eventful day, and
the more she thought of him, the more she liked him. Her admiration of
him was not of that silly, sentimental character which moon-struck
young ladies cherish towards those immaculate young men who have saved
them from drowning in a horse pond, pulled them back just as they were
tumbling over a precipice two thousand five hundred feet high, or
rescued them from a house seven stories high, bearing them down a
ladder seventy-five odd feet long. The fact was, Bobby was a boy of
thirteen and there was no chance for much sentiment; so the young
lady's regard was real, earnest, and lifelike.

Ellen said a great many very handsome things; but I am sure she never
thought of such a thing as that he would run away with her, in case her
papa was unneccessarily obstinate. She was very glad to see him, and I
have no doubt she wished Bobby might be her brother, it would be so
glorious to have such a noble little fellow always with her.

Bobby managed the dinner much better than he had anticipated; for Mr.
Bayard insisted that he should sit down with them, whether he ate any
thing or not. But the Rubicon passed, our hero found that he had a
pretty smart appetite, and did full justice to the viands set before
him. It is true the silver forks, the napkins, the finger bowls, and
other articles of luxury and show, to which he had been entirely
unaccustomed, bothered him not a little; but he kept perfectly cool,
and carefully observed how Mr. Butler, who sat next to him, handled the
"spoon fork," what he did with the napkin and the finger bowl, so that,
I will venture to say, not one in ten would have suspected he had not
spent his life in the parlor of a _millionnaire_.

Dinner over, the party returned to the parlor, where Bobby unfolded his
plan for the future. To make his story intelligible, he was obliged to
tell them all about Mr. Hardhand.

"The old wretch!" exclaimed Mr. Bayard. "But, Robert, you must let me
a