ion of Pet. The carved stone roses over the door
seemed to be truly the emblems of love. It was a silly notion; but, in
Bog's eyes, love imparted a not unpleasant expression to the grim lions'
faces that looked down from the roof. But the green window curtains with
gold borders were the most significant symbols of love, in his eyes. Bog
felt that curtains of any other color would be wholly out of place in
that house. The patch of a garden, scarcely bigger than a bathroom, in
front of the house; the single fir tree that grew up in the middle of
it; the black iron railing; the door steps, and the pavement--all took
their share of beatitude from the joy within. Bog could hear love rustle
in the boughs of the young maple, that stood in its long green case like
a fancy boot top, at the edge of the sidewalk.

CHAPTER IV.

LEGERDEMAIN.

As Bog was resting against the hydrant, absorbed in this delicious
revery, and totally indifferent to the consequences, he was startled by
a slight tap on the shoulder. He turned quickly, and saw--the man he
hated--the man who pretended (Bog would never admit that it was more
than a pretence) to save Pet from the falling boards.

"Well," said Bog, looking on this man as his mortal enemy, "What do you
want of me?" He spoke in the gruff, defiant manner peculiar to children
of the city.

The man's livid face and lead-colored eyes and white teeth all combined
in a reassuring smile. "Nothing," said he, "my good fellow, but to do
an errand."

"I say, now, who'd you take me for, hey?" answered Bog, shaking his head
at the man, and feeling a tremendous desire to knock his shining
hat off.

The man looked up and down Bog's cheap gray suit, and at his neatly
polished shoes and his clean slouching cap, and then said:

"No offence meant, my lad. But I thought you wouldn't object to earning
a quarter. You're only to deliver a letter at that house; that's all."
He pointed to Miss Pillbody's.

"Hey--what house?" asked Bog, turning pale, with a strange and jarring
combination of rage, jealousy, envy, and insulted dignity.

"The one with the bright doorplate, green curtains and gold borders. I
thought you were looking at it as I came up."

"N-no, I wasn't. And what if I was, hey?"

"It strikes me you're rather touchy, my young friend," said the man,
with his conciliatory smile. "Here's the letter, now, and a quarter.
It's only a few steps. No answer required."

As Bog caught sight of the le