girl.

"There's a boy at the door wants to see you, Mr. Rockwell," said the
girl.

"Did you ask him in?"

"No sir. He looks like a suspicious carakter," said Bridget, laying the
stress on the second syllable.

Mr. Rockwell rose, and went to the door.

"What is your business?" he asked.

"It's about Dick,--Ragged Dick we used to call him," said Micky.

"You mean Richard Hunter."

"Yes," said Micky. "He was took up for stealin' a gentleman's
pocket-book three months ago."

"But he was proved innocent," said Mr. Rockwell, "so, if you have
anything to say against him, your time is thrown away."

"I know he was innocent," said Micky; "another boy took it."

"Who was he?"

"I did it."

"Then you did a wicked thing in stealing the money, and a mean thing in
trying to get an innocent boy into trouble."

"I wouldn't have done it," said Micky, "if I hadn't been paid for it."

"Paid for stealing!" said Mr. Rockwell, astonished.

"Paid for tryin' to get Dick into trouble."

"That does not seem to be a very likely story," said Mr. Rockwell. "Who
would pay you money for doing such a thing?"

"Mr. Gilbert."

"My book-keeper?"

"Yes," said Micky, vindictively.

"I can hardly believe this," said Mr. Rockwell.

"He paid me only a dollar for what I did," said Micky, in an injured
tone. "He'd ought to have given me five dollars. He's a reg'lar mean
feller."

"And is this why you betray him now?"

"No," said Micky; "it isn't the money, though it's mean to expect a
feller to run the risk of bein' nabbed for a dollar; but when the 'copp'
had got hold of me I met him, and he said I was a young scamp, and he
didn't know anything about me."

"Is this true?" asked Mr. Rockwell, looking keenly at Micky.

Micky confirmed his statement by an oath.

"I don't want you to swear. I shall not believe you the sooner for that.
Can you explain why Mr. Gilbert should engage in such a base
conspiracy?"

"He told me that he hated Dick," said Micky.

"Do you like him?"

"No, I don't," said Micky, honestly; "but I hate Mr. Gilbert worse."

"Why do you hate Richard?"

"Because he puts on airs."

"I suppose," said Mr. Rockwell, smiling, "that means that he wears good
clothes, and keeps his face and hands clean."

"He wasn't nothin' but a boot-black," said Micky, in an injured tone.

"What are you?"

"I'm a boot-black too; but I don't put on airs."

"Do you mean to be a boot-black all your life?"

"I dunna," sai