d.

The servant smiled, and took the coin.

"He's in," was the reply.

"Then please hand this to him, and say as how it's 'mportant. No arnser
wanted."

The servant received the note, and sententiously remarked, "Consider it
done;" whereon the boy Bog hurriedly retreated, and hid himself in a
doorway nearly opposite. He had hardly done this, before the door of the
house opened again, and disclosed the man whom he longed to see. The
letter was crumpled in his hand, and his pale face betrayed agitation.
He cast wary looks in all directions, and then descended to the
sidewalk, and walked fast down Broadway. Bog emerged from his seclusion,
and followed him at a distance, always keeping somebody between him and
the object of his pursuit.

At the corner of Astor Place, young Van Quintem stopped; and Bog came to
a halt also, half a block behind.

The next minute, the Eighth-street stage, going up, approached the
corner at a rapid rate, as if the driver were hurrying home to his
supper. There were but few persons in the stage.

Young Van Quintem hailed the conveyance, jumped in before it could stop,
and the driver whipped up his horses to an increased speed. Bog was
tired, and he knew not how far he might have to follow the stage at a
full trot. He resolved upon his course instantly. Turning the corner of
Clinton Place, he ran up that side of the triangular block, and met the
stage. He pulled his old cap farther over his eyes, to prevent the
possibility of recognition by young Van Quintem, and, gliding swiftly
behind the stage, when he was sure that the driver was not looking,
hooked on to the step behind, just as he had done a thousand times when
he was a smaller boy.

CHAPTER VI.

TRACKED.

Young Van Quintem sat at the farther end of the stage, absorbed in his
own thoughts. His thin lips moved restlessly at times, as if he were
arguing to himself. In his hand he still held the crumpled note. Twice
he unfolded it, and read the contents carefully; then crushed it in his
hand again. Bog watched him through the window of the stage door--not
looking straight at him, but with that side vision with which we trace
the outline of faint comets. He was aware that young Van Quintem looked
at him twice suspiciously, and then settled back into his own
meditations. Bog felt safe in his disguise--or rather his original and
native dress.

When the stage stopped to take in or let out passengers, Bog slipped
from his perch,