and I haven't an
idea where I am going to sleep to-night."

The boy surveyed him doubtfully.

"You might go to the station-house."

"Not if I know it," said Tom, whose visions of grandeur, though dimmer,
were not to be brought down so low.

"Then there's the Newsboys' Lodging-House."

"Could I get in there? But I don't know the way."

"Come along with me; I'll show yer. I sleep there most o' the time."

This was, indeed, unforeseen good fortune, and Tom embraced it heartily.
As they walked along, Tim got out of him his whole story; and when it
was finished, he said to him: "You were a big fool to leave a good home
and try your luck here. For one that swims, a hundred sinks. Why, half
the time I'm hungry, and the way we fellers gits knocked about is jist
awful."

They reached the Lodging-House, and Tom, with his companion's aid,
registered his name, got his ticket, and secured a bed. He was so tired
he could hardly speak, and the pain in his hand was increasing. In the
morning his friend had gone. The matron seeing his suffering dressed his
hand, and led him on to tell her who he was and what was his errand to
the city. Kindly and patiently, she pointed out to him the great wrong
of his beginning, the wickedness of leaving his aunt in ignorance of his
whereabouts, the mistake of supposing that it was an easy matter to work
one's way up from obscurity to places of trust and honor; that if his
endeavors were sanctioned by those in authority over him, and kind
friends were willing to assist him and procure him occupation, he yet
would find that it would only be by patient labor and constant effort
that he could maintain himself, and that larks ready cooked no longer
dropped into open mouths. All this and more came home to the sorrowful
Tom with great force, for the dirt and jargon of the city were to him
very distasteful. His castles were crumbling as he wended his way again
to the docks. It was a weary time he had to find the boat which would
carry him back, and it was with a grieved spirit that he found himself
again at the door of the little red house by the hill. Grieved and weary
and hungry, Aunt Maria, whose eyes were red with weeping, perceived him
to be, and with wonderful wisdom she kept down her questions, and
silently made him comfortable. Little Jane was full of curiosity, and
more than one neighbor put their heads in to have a word to say.

[Illustration: TOM TELLS THE STORY OF HIS DAY IN THE CITY.--D