ried to draw a horse the other
day, and it looked more like a cow."

"You see then that we all have our different gifts. Paul has a talent
for business."

"I think he'll be rich some day, mother."

"I hope he will, for I think he will make a good use of his money."

While Mrs. Hoffman was speaking she had been setting the table for
supper. The meal was not a luxurious one, but there was no lack of
food. Beside rolls and butter, there was a plate of cold meat, an
apple pie, and a pot of steaming hot tea. The cloth was scrupulously
clean, and I am sure that though the room was an humble one not one of
my readers need have felt a repugnance to sitting down at Mrs.
Hoffman's plain table.

For the benefit of such as may not have read "Paul the Peddler," I
will explain briefly that Mrs. Hoffman, by the death of her husband
two years previous, had been reduced to poverty, which compelled her
to move into a tenement house and live as best she could on the
earnings of her oldest son, Paul, supplemented by the pittance she
obtained for sewing. Paul, a smart, enterprising boy, after trying
most of the street occupations, had become a young street merchant. By
a lucky chance he had obtained capital enough to buy out a necktie
stand below the Astor House, where his tact and energy had enabled him
to achieve a success, the details of which we will presently give.
Besides his own profits, he was able to employ his mother in making
neckties at a compensation considerably greater than she could have
obtained from the Broadway shops for which she had hitherto worked.

Scarcely was supper placed on the table when Paul entered. He was a
stout, manly boy of fifteen, who would readily have been taken for a
year or two older, with a frank, handsome face, and an air of
confidence and self-reliance, which he had acquired through his
independent efforts to gain a livelihood. He had been thrown upon his
own resources at an age when most boys have everything done for them,
and though this had been a disadvantage so far as his education was
concerned, it had developed in him a confidence in himself and his own
ability to cope with the world not usually found in boys of his age.

"Well, mother," said he briskly, "I am glad supper is ready, for I am
as hungry as a wolf."

"I think there will be enough for you," said his mother, smiling. "If
not, we will send to the baker's for an extra supply."

"Is a wolf hungry, Paul?" asked Jimmy, sober