r to those who were living in Damietta at the time.

One evening a rough-bearded man entered the office, and stepping to the
counter, said to me:

"My name is Burkhill--G. R. Burkhill--and I am staying at the hotel in
Moorestown. I am expecting a very important dispatch to-night, but I
cannot wait for it. If it reaches this office before ten o'clock, I wish
to have it delivered to the hotel."

Moorestown lay directly across the river, and was reached by the long,
covered bridge which spanned the stream. It was beyond our "jurisdiction,"
that is, outside the circle of free delivery, which Mr. Burkhill
understood, as he remarked that he would pay well for the trouble.

I assured him that I would see that the telegram reached him that night,
if received before ten o'clock. Thanking me, he said good-evening, passed
out, mounted his horse, and galloped away in the wintry darkness.

It was in the month of February, but the weather was mild for that
season, and there had been a plentiful fall of rain. Ben was on duty
until ten, and he was in the very act of rising from his seat when he
called out:

"Helloa! here comes the message for Mr. Burkhill."

It was quite brief and Ben wrote it out rapidly, took a hasty impression,
thrust it into the damp yellow envelope, and whistled for a messenger
boy. There was only one present, and he was a pale, delicate lad, who had
gone on duty that day after a week's illness.

"Helloa, Tim; do you want to earn a half dollar extra?" asked Ben, as the
boy stood expectantly before him.

"I would like to, if it isn't too hard for me."

Ben looked sharply at him and saw that the boy was in too weak a state to
undertake the task. There was no other messenger within call, and Mr.
Burkhill was doubtless impatient for the message whose delivery I had
guaranteed.

"It won't do for you to cross the river to-night," said Ben decisively;
"the air is damp and raw, and I think it is going to rain again. I'll do
it for you, and whatever extra I collect from Mr. Burkhill you shall
have, Tim; now go home and go to bed."

And waving me a good-night, Ben hurried out of the door and vanished down
the street.

"It's just like him," I muttered, as I prepared to go home; for except on
special occasions we closed our office at ten, or shortly after. "That
isn't the first kindness he has done that boy, and everyone in the office
is bound by gratitude to him."

As I stepped out on the street I observed t