ere abed,' said John, whisking the damp papers into one pocket, and his
purse out of another, as he spoke.

'All of 'em?--why there's six!' croaked the boy, for he was as hoarse as
a raven.

'Never mind, I can kindle the fire with 'em. Put that in your pocket;
and trot home, my man, as fast as possible.'

'Where do you live?' I asked, picking up the fifty cents that fell from
the little fingers, too benumbed to hold it.

'Mills Court, out of Hanover. Cold, ain't it?' said the boy, blowing on
his purple hands, and hopping feebly from one leg to the other, to take
the stiffness out.

'He can't go all that way in this storm--such a mite, and so used up
with cold and sleep, John.'

'Of course he can't; we'll put him in a car,' began John; when the boy
wheezed out,--

'No; I've got ter wait for Sam. He'll be along as soon's the theatre's
done. He said he would; and so I'm waitin'.'

'Who is Sam?' I asked.

'He's the feller I lives with. I ain't got any folks, and he takes care
o' me.'

'Nice care, indeed; leaving a baby like you to wait for him here such a
night as this,' I said crossly.

'Oh, he's good to me Sam is, though he does knock me round sometimes,
when I ain't spry. The big feller shoves me back, you see; and I gets
cold, and can't sing out loud; so I don't sell my papers, and has to
work 'em off late.'

'Hear the child talk! One would think he was sixteen, instead of six,' I
said, half laughing.

'I'm most ten. Hi! ain't that a oner?' cried the boy, as a gust of sleet
slapped him in the face, when he peeped to see if Sam was coming.
'Hullo! the lights is out! Why, the play's done, and the folks gone, and
Sam's forgot me.'

It was very evident that Sam _had_ forgotten his little _protege_; and
a strong desire to shake Sam possessed me.

'No use waitin' any longer; and now my papers is sold, I ain't afraid to
go home,' said the boy, stepping down like a little old man with the
rheumatism, and preparing to trudge away through the storm.

'Stop a bit, my little Casabianca; a car will be along in fifteen
minutes; and while waiting you can warm yourself over there,' said John,
with the purple hand in his.

'My name's Jack Hill, not Cassy Banks, please, sir,' said the little
party, with dignity.

'Have you had your supper, Mr. Hill?' asked John, laughing.

'I had some peanuts, and two sucks of Joe's orange; but it warn't very
fillin',' he said, gravely.

'I should think not. Here! one stew; an