o go out nursing; she's a nurse now. Everybody likes her, and
she has enough to do. We couldn't be with her, of course. She got us
boarded at a good place, but I saw how hard it was going to be for her
to support us, so I said, I'm a boy; I can do something for myself; you
just pay the board for the girls and keep them to school, and I'll go
to work, and maybe help you a little, besides taking care of myself."

"What could you do?" said the little old man.

"That's it; I was only eleven years old; and what could I do? What I
should have liked would have been some nice place where I could do light
work, and stand a chance of learning a good business. But beggars
mustn't be choosers. I couldn't find such a place; and I wasn't going to
be loafing about the streets, so I went to selling newspapers. I've sold
newspapers ever since, and I shall be twelve years old next month."

"You like it?" said the old man.

"I like to get my own living," replied Bert, proudly. "But what I want
is, to learn some trade, or regular business, and settle down and make a
home for my mother. But there's no use talking about that.

"Well I've told you about myself," added Bert; "now suppose _you_ tell
_me_ something?"

"About myself?"

"Yes. I think that would go pretty well with the pie."

But the man shook his head. "I could go back and tell you about many of
my plans and high hopes when I was a lad of your age; but it would be
too much like your own story over again. Life isn't what we think it
will be, when we are young. You'll find that out soon enough. I am all
alone in the world now; and I am nearly seventy years old."

"It must be so lonely, at your age! What do you do for a living?"

"I have a little place in Devonshire street. My name is Crooker. You'll
find me up two nights of stairs, back room at the right. Come and see
me, and I'll tell you all about my business and perhaps help you to such
a place as you want, for I know several business men. Now don't fail."

And Mr. Crooker wrote his address, with a little stub of a pencil, on a
corner of the newspaper which had led to their acquaintance, tore it off
carefully, and gave it to Bert.

Thereupon the latter took a card from his pocket, and handed it across
the table to his new friend.

[Illustration: HERBERT HAMPTON Dealer in Newspapers]

The old man read the card, with his sharp gray eyes, which glowed up
funnily at Bert, seeming to say, "Isn't this rather aristocratic