was not angry. He was very funny,
for he laughed very loudly, and said:

"'Put the kid to work, and if he doesn't do it, put a ten-inch hose on
him!'

"Four of us altogether had stowed away on that ship. The other boys
laughed a good deal at me because I got the easiest job of them all.
When I was able to stand on my feet, they made me clean a little
brass cannon. I could clean it sitting down, and I liked the job when
I was not sick. Every one was good to me, and I had a happy time the
last few days of the voyage. Then I came to New York and met you."

This, in briefest outline, is the story of Johnnie Walker. I met him
at a mission on the edge of the North River, and was as touched by his
story as others had been before me. So I took him to my home,
introduced him to the bathroom and to a new suit of clothes, and
Johnnie entered upon the happiest days of his life. After a few weeks
I handed him over to the Children's Aid Society, and they sent him out
West. He has always called me "father."

One evening I asked him what he knew about Jesus and he replied,
"Ain't 'ee th' bloke as they swears about?"

His ideas of prayer were also dim, but he made an attempt. He wrote a
letter to God and read it on his knees before going to bed.

He is now a prosperous farmer in the far West, living on a quarter
section of land given to him by the Government, and on which he has
made good his claim to American citizenship.

CHAPTER X

I MEET SOME OUTCASTS

A sharp contrast to this waif of the street is the case of a statesman
under a cloud. I was sitting on a bench near the bunk-house one day at
twilight, when I noticed a profile silhouetted against the window. I
had seen only one profile like that in my life, and that was when I
was a boy. I moved closer. The man sat like a statue. His face was
very pale and he was gazing vacantly at the walls in the rear of the
building. Finally, I went over and sat down beside him.

"Good evening," he said quietly, in answer to my salutation. I looked
into his face--a face I knew when a boy, a face familiar to the
law-makers of Victoria for a quarter of a century. I called him by
name. At the sound of his own name, his paleness turned to an ashy
yellow.

"In Heaven's name," I said, "what are you doing here?" He looked at me
with an expression of excruciating pain on his face, and said:

"I have travelled some thousands of miles in order to be alone; if you
have any kindness,