ot the first time he had referred to his uncertain origin.

"Won't Tim Bolton tell you anything about your family?"

"No; I've asked him more'n once. He always says he's my father, and
that makes me mad."

"It is strange," said Florence, thoughtfully. "I had a young cousin
stolen many years ago."

"Was it the son of the old gentleman you lived with on Madison
Avenue?"

"Yes; it was the son of Uncle John. It quite broke him down. After my
cousin's loss he felt that he had nothing to live for."

"I wish I was your cousin, Florence," said Dodger, thoughtfully.

"Well, then, I will adopt you as my cousin, or brother, whichever you
prefer!"

"I would rather be your cousin."

"Then cousin let it be! Now we are bound to each other by strong and
near ties."

"But when your uncle takes you back you'll forget all about poor
Dodger."

"No, I won't, Dodger. There's my hand on it. Whatever comes, we are
friends forever."

"Then I'll try not to disgrace you, Florence. I'll learn as fast as I
can, and see if I don't grow up to be a gentleman."

Chapter XVII.
A Mysterious Adventure.

Several weeks passed without changing in any way the position or
employment of Dodger or Florence.

They had settled down to their respective forms of labor, and were
able not only to pay their modest expenses, but to save up something
for a rainy day.

Florence had but one source of regret.

She enjoyed her work, and did not now lament the luxurious home which
she had lost.

But she did feel sore at heart that her uncle made no sign of regret
for their separation.

From him she received no message of forgiveness or reconciliation.

"He has forgotten me!" she said to herself, bitterly. "He has cast me
utterly out of his heart. I do not care for his money, but I do not
like to think that my kind uncle--for he was always kind till the last
trouble--has steeled his heart against me forever."

But she learned through a chance meeting with Jane, that this was not
so.

"Mr. Linden is getting very nervous and low-spirited," said the girl,
"and sits hour after hour in the library looking into the fire,
a-fotchin' deep sighs every few minutes. Once I saw him with your
photograph--the one you had taken last spring--in his hands, and he
looked sad-like when he laid it down."

"My dear uncle! Then he does think of me sometimes?"

"It's my belief he'd send for you if Curtis would let him."

"Surely Curtis cannot exercise any