very glad of company," said Dodger,
heartily.

"But you are a poor boy. You may be ill able to afford the expense."

"I am not a millionaire," said Dodger, "and I don't see any immediate
prospect of my building a palace on Nob Hill"--where live some of San
Francisco's wealthiest citizens--"but I am very well supplied with
money."

"Then I will accept your kind invitation."

It was a small restaurant, but neat in its appointments, and, as in
most San Francisco restaurants, the prices were remarkably moderate.

At an expense of twenty-five cents each, the three obtained a
satisfactory meal.

The woman and child both seemed to enjoy it, and Dodger was glad to
see that the former became more cheerful as time went on.

There was something in the child's face that looked familiar to
Dodger. It was a resemblance to some one that he had seen, but he
could not for the life of him decide who it was.

"How can I ever thank you for your kindness?" said the lady, as she
arose from the table. "You don't know what it is to be famished----"

"Don't I?" asked Dodger. "I have been hungry more than once, without
money enough to buy a meal."

"You don't look it," she said.

"No, for now I have a good place and am earning a good salary."

"Are you a native of San Francisco?"

"No, madam. I can't tell you where I was born, for I know little or
nothing of my family. I have only been here a short time. I came from
New York."

"So did I," said the woman, with a sigh. "I wish I were back there
again."

"How came you to be here? Don't answer if you prefer not to," Dodger
added, hastily.

"I have no objection. My husband deserted me, and left me to shift for
myself and support my child."

"How have you done it?"

"By taking in sewing. But that is a hard way of earning money. There
are too many poor women who are ready to work for starvation wages,
and so we all suffer."

"I know that," answered Dodger. "Do you live near here?"

The woman mentioned a street near by.

"I have one poor back room on the third floor," she explained; "but I
should be glad if I were sure to stay there."

"Is there any danger of your being ejected?"

"I am owing for two weeks' rent, and this is the middle of the third
week. Unless I can pay up at the end of this week I shall be forced to
go out into the streets with my poor child."

"How much rent do you pay?"

"A dollar a week."

"Then three dollars will relieve you for the present?"