become honest."

"Do you really care what becomes of me, miss?" asked Dodger, slowly.

"I do, indeed."

"That's very kind of you, miss; but I don't understand it. You are a
rich young lady, and I'm only a poor boy, livin' in a Bowery dive."

"What's that?"

"Never mind, miss, such as you wouldn't understand. Why, all my life
I've lived with thieves, and drunkards, and bunco men, and----"

"But I'm sure you don't like it. You are fit for something better."

"Do you really think so?" asked Dodger, doubtfullly.

"Yes; you have a good face. You were meant to be good and honest, I am
sure."

"Would you trust me?" asked the boy, earnestly, fixing his large, dark
eyes eloquently on the face of Florence.

"Yes, I would if you would only leave your evil companions, and become
true to your better nature."

"No one ever spoke to me like that before, miss," said Dodger, his
expressive features showing that he was strongly moved. "You think I
could be good if I tried hard, and grow up respectable?"

"I am sure you could," said Florence, confidently.

There was something in this boy, young outlaw though he was, that
moved her powerfully, and even fascinated her, though she hardly
realized it. It was something more than a feeling of compassion for a
wayward and misguided youth.

"I could if I was rich like you, and lived in a nice house, and
'sociated with swells. If you had a father like mine----"

"Is he a bad man?"

"Well, he don't belong to the church. He keeps a gin mill, and has
ever since I was a kid."

"Have you always lived with him?"

"Yes, but not in New York."

"Where then?"

"In Melbourne."

"That's in Australia."

"Yes, miss."

"How long since you came to New York?"

"I guess it's about three years."

"And you have always had this man as a guardian? Poor boy!"

"You've got a different father from me, miss?"

Tears forced themselves to the eyes of Florence, as this remark
brought forcibly to her mind the position in which she was placed.

"Alas!" she answered, impulsively, "I am alone in the world!"

"What! ain't the old gentleman that lives here your father?"

"He is my uncle; but he is very, very angry with me, and has this very
day ordered me to leave the house."

"Why, what a cantankerous old ruffian he is, to be sure!" exclaimed
the boy, indignantly.

"Hush! you must not talk against my uncle. He has always been kind to
me till now."

"Why, what's up? What's the old gentl