one in a
dhream."

"I wish I had anything worth offering you," said Tony, reddening, while
he placed the last few shillings he had in the other's palm.

"What's this for?" said the man, half angrily; "sure you don't think
it's for money I did it;" and he pushed the coin back almost rudely from
him.

While Tony assuaged, as well as he might, the anger of his wounded
pride, they walked on together for some time, till at last the other
said, "I'll have to hurry away now, your honor; I 'm to be at Blackwall,
to catch the packet for Derry, by twelve o'clock."

"What packet do you speak of?"

"The 'Foyle,' sir. She's to sail this evening, and I have my passage
paid for me, and I mustn't lose it."

"If I had my luggage, I 'd go in her too. I want to cross over to
Ireland."

"And where is it, sir,--the luggage, I mean?"

"Oh, it's only a portmanteau, and it's at the Tavistock Hotel, Covent
Garden."

"If your honor wouldn't mind taking charge of this," said he, pointing
to his bundle, "I 'd be off in a jiffy, and get the trunk, and be back
by the time you reached the steamer."

"Would you really do me this service? Well, here 's my card; when you
show this to the waiter, he 'll hand you the portmanteau; and there is
nothing to pay."

"All right, sir; the 'Foyle,' a big paddle-steamer,--you 'll know her
red chimney the moment you see it;" and without another word he gave
Tony his bundle and hurried away.

"Is not this trustfulness?" thought Tony, as he walked onward; "I
suppose this little bundle contains all this poor fellow's worldly
store, and he commits it to a stranger without one moment of doubt or
hesitation." It was for the second time on that same morning that his
heart was touched by a trait of kindness; and he began to feel that if
such proofs of brotherhood were rife in the world, narrow fortune was
not half so bad a thing as he had ever believed it.

It was a long walk he had before him, and not much time to do it in, so
that he was obliged to step briskly out. As for the bundle, it is
but fair to own that at first he carried it with a certain shame and
awkwardness, affecting in various ways to assure the passers-by that
such an occupation was new to him; but as time wore on, and he saw, as
he did see, that very few noticed him, and none troubled themselves as
to what was the nature of his burden, he grew more indifferent, well
consoled by thinking that nothing was more unlikely than that he should