will be, mother. At any rate, I think I ought to
get more than four dollars a week where I am. Why, there's Talbot, only
two years older than I, gets eight dollars, and I do more than he. To
tell the truth, I don't like the place. I don't like to be seen carrying
round bundles. It isn't fit work for a gentleman's son."

Roswell forgot that many of the most prosperous merchants in the city
began in that way, only on less wages. One who wants to climb the ladder
of success must, except in very rare cases, commence at the lowest
round. This was what Roswell did not like. He wanted to begin half-way
up at the very least. It was a great hindrance to him that he regarded
himself as a gentleman's son, and was puffed up with a corresponding
sense of his own importance.

The more Roswell thought of his ill-requited services, as he considered
them, the more he felt aggrieved. It may be mentioned that he was
employed in a dry goods store on Sixth Avenue, and was chiefly engaged
in carrying out bundles for customers. A circumstance which occurred
about this time deepened his disgust with the place.

About the middle of the next week he was carrying a heavy bundle to a
house on Madison Avenue. Now it happened that Mr. Rockwell, who, it will
be remembered, lived on the same street, had left home that morning,
quite forgetting an important letter which he had received, and which
required an early answer. He therefore summoned Dick, and said,
"Richard, do you remember the location of my house?"

"Yes, sir," said Dick.

"I find I have left an important letter at home. I have written a line
to my wife, that she may know where to look for it. I want you to go up
at once."

"Very well, sir."

Dick took the note, and, walking to Broadway, jumped on board an
omnibus, and in a few minutes found himself opposite the Fifth Avenue
Hotel. Here he alighted, and, crossing the Park, entered Madison Avenue,
then as now lined with fine houses.

Walking briskly up the avenue, he overtook a boy of about his own size,
with a large bundle under his arm. Glancing at him as he passed, he
recognized Roswell Crawford.

"How are you, Crawford?" said Dick, in an offhand manner.

Roswell looked at the speaker, whom he recognized.

"I'm well," said he, in a stiff, ungracious manner.

Ashamed of the large bundle he was carrying, he would rather have been
seen by any boy than Dick, under present circumstances. He did not fail
to notice Dick's neat dr