'Oh, he's good to me Sam is, though he does knock me round sometimes, when I ain't spry. The big feller shoves me back, you see; and I gets cold, and can't sing out loud; so I don't sell my papers, and has to work 'em off late.' 'Hear the child talk! One would think he was sixteen, instead of six,' I said, half laughing. 'I'm most ten. Hi! ain't that a oner?' cried the boy, as a gust of sleet slapped him in the face, when he peeped to see if Sam was coming. 'Hullo! the lights is out! Why, the play's done, and the folks gone, and Sam's forgot me.' It was very evident that Sam _had_ forgotten his little _protege_; and a strong desire to shake Sam possessed me. 'No use waitin' any longer; and now my papers is sold, I ain't afraid to go home,' said the boy, stepping down like a little old man with the rheumatism, and preparing to trudge away through the storm. 'Stop a bit, my little Casabianca; a car will be along in fifteen minutes; and while waiting you can warm yourself over there,' said John, with the purple hand in his. 'My name's Jack Hill, not Cassy Banks, please, sir,' said the little party, with dignity. 'Have you had your supper, Mr. Hill?' asked John, laughing. 'I had some peanuts, and two sucks of Joe's orange; but it warn't very fillin',' he said, gravely. 'I should think not. Here! one stew; and be quick, please,' cried John, as we sat down in a warm corner of the confectioner's opposite. While little Jack shovelled in the hot oysters, with his eyes shutting up now and then in spite of himself, we looked at him and thought again of little Rosy-face at home safe in his warm nest, with mother-love watching over him. Nodding towards the ragged, grimy, forlorn, little creature, dropping asleep over his supper like a tired baby, I said,-- 'Can you imagine our Freddy out alone at this hour, trying to 'work off' his papers, because afraid to go home till he has?' 'I'd rather not try,' answered brother John, winking hard, as he stroked the little head beside him, which, by the bye, looked very like a ragged, yellow door-mat. I _think_ brother John winked hard, but I can't be sure, for I know I did; and for a minute there seemed to be a dozen little newsboys dancing before my eyes. 'There goes our car; and it's the last,' said John, looking at me. 'Let it go, but don't leave the boy;' and I frowned at John for hinting at such a thing. 'Here is his car. Now, my lad, bolt your last oyster, and come on.' 'Good-night, ma'am! thankee, sir!' croaked the grateful little voice, as the child was caught up in John's strong hands and set down on the car-step. With a word to the conductor, and a small business transaction, we left Jack coiled up in a corner to finish his nap as tranquilly as if it wasn't midnight, and a 'knocking-round' might not await him at his journey's end.