en called
away from town the day before, and would be gone for a month or two.
Would the visitor leave his name?

"Tell him Adam Rawson has been to see him, and that he will come
again." He paused a moment, then said slowly: "Tell him I'm huntin' for
him and I'm goin' to stay here till I find him."

He walked slowly out, followed by the eyes of every man in the office.

The squire spent his time between watching for Wickersham and hunting
for his granddaughter. He would roam about the streets and inquire for
her of policemen and strangers, quite as if New York were a small
village like Ridgely instead of a great hive in which hundreds of
thousands were swarming, their identity hardly known to any but
themselves. Most of those to whom he applied treated him as a harmless
old lunatic. But he was not always so fortunate. One night, when he was
tired out with tramping the streets, he wandered into one of the parks
and sat down on a bench, where he finally fell asleep. He was awakened
by some one feeling in his pocket. He had just been dreaming that Phrony
had found him and hail sat down beside him and was fondling him, and
when he first came back to consciousness her name was on his lips. He
still thought it was she who sat beside him, and he called her by name,
"Phrony." The girl, a poor, painted, bedizened creature, was quick
enough to answer to the name.

"I am Phrony; go to sleep again."

The joy of getting back his lost one aroused the old man, and he sat up
with an exclamation of delight. The next second, at sight of the
strange, painted face, he recoiled.

"You Phrony?"

"Yes. Don't you know me?" She snuggled closer beside him, and worked
quietly at his big watch, which somehow had caught in his tight
vest pocket.

"No, you ain't! Who are you, girl? What are you doin'?"

The young woman put her arms around his neck, and began to talk
cajolingly. He was "such a dear old fellow," etc., etc. But the old
man's wit had now returned to him. His disappointment had angered him.

"Get away from me, woman. What are you doin' to me?" he demanded
roughly.

She still clung to him, using her poor blandishments. But the squire was
angry. He pushed her off. "Go away from me, I say. What do you want? You
ought to be ashamed of yourself. You don't know who I am. I am a deacon
in the church, a trustee of Ridge College, and I have a granddaughter
who is older than you. If you don't go away, I will tap you with
my stick."