se. "Are you acquainted with Titus Newman, the Pearl Street
merchant?"

"No, sir," answered Hector, in secret excitement.

"He seems to have written to you," said Mr. Ross.

Hector took the letter and tore open the envelope.

CHAPTER XXXI. AN IMPORTANT LETTER.

The letter alluded to in the last chapter ran thus. It was written from
Mr. Newman's house in Madison Avenue, though inclosed in a business
envelope:

"MASTER HECTOR ROSCOE: I learn that I am indebted to you for the rescue
of my little daughter from imminent peril during my absence from home
yesterday. A friend who witnessed her providential escape has given me
such an account of your bravery in risking your own life to save that of
an unknown child, that I cannot rest till I have had an opportunity
of thanking you in person. You will do me a favor, if not otherwise
engaged, if you will call at my house this evening, about eight o'clock.
Yours gratefully,

"Titus NEWMAN."

It is needless to say that Hector read this letter with feelings of
gratification. It is true, as we are often told, that "virtue is its own
reward," but it is, nevertheless, pleasant to feel that our efforts to
do well and serve others are appreciated.

"No bad news, I hope, Hector?" said Walter.

"No," answered Hector. "You may read the letter, if you like, Mr. Ross."

Mr. Ross did so, and aloud, much to the surprise of everyone at table.

"You did not tell me of this," said Walter, in astonishment.

"No," answered Hector, smiling.

"But why not?"

"Because Hector is modest," Mr. Ross answered for him. "Now, if you had
done such a thing, Walter, we should have been sure to hear of it."

"I don't know," returned Walter, comically. "You don't know how many
lives I have saved within the last few years."

"Nor anyone else, I fancy," replied his father. "By the way, Hector,
there is a paragraph about it in the Herald of this morning. I read
it, little suspecting that you were the boy whose name the reporter was
unable to learn."

Hector read the paragraph in question with excusable pride. It was, in
the main, correct.

"How old was the little girl?" asked Walter.

"Four years old, I should think."

"That isn't quite so romantic as if she had been three times as old."

"I couldn't have rescued her quite as easily, in that case."

Of course, Hector was called upon for an account of the affair, which
he gave plainly, without adding any of those embellishments wh