"No, I live just out of Boston,--a few miles." "Ever been in New York before?" "Once. That was four years ago. I passed through on the way from Pennsylvania, where I used to live." "Pennsylvania," repeated Ben, beginning to be interested. "Whereabouts did you live there,--in Philadelphy?" "No, a little way from there, in a small town named Cedarville." Ben started, and he nearly let fall the valise from his hand. "What's the matter?" asked Charles. "I came near fallin'," said Ben, a little confused. "What's your name?" he asked, rather abruptly. "Charles Marston." Ben scanned intently the face of his companion. He had good reason to do so, for though Charles little suspected that there was any relationship between himself and the ragged and dirty boy who carried his valise, the two were own cousins. They had been school-mates in Cedarville, and passed many a merry hour together in boyish sport. In fact Charles had been Ben's favorite playmate, as well as cousin, and many a time, when he lay awake in such chance lodgings as the street provided, he had thought of his cousin, and wished that he might meet him again. Now they had met most strangely; no longer on terms of equality, but one with all the outward appearance of a young gentleman, the other, a ragged and ignorant street boy. Ben's heart throbbed painfully when he saw that his cousin regarded him as a stranger, and for the first time in a long while he felt ashamed of his position. He would not for the world have revealed himself to Charles in his present situation; yet he felt a strong desire to learn whether he was still remembered. How to effect this without betraying his identity he hardly knew; at length he thought of a way that might lead to it. "My name's shorter'n yours," he said. "What is it?" asked Charles. "It's Ben." "That stands for Benjamin; so yours is the longest after all." "That's so, I never thought of that. Everybody calls me Ben." "What's your other name?" Ben hesitated. If he said "Brandon" he would be discovered, and his pride stood in the way of that. Finally he determined to give a false name; so he answered after a slight pause, which Charles did not notice, "My other name is Hooper,--Ben Hooper. Didn't you ever know anybody of my name?" "What,--Ben Hooper?" "No, Ben." "Yes. I had a cousin named Ben." "Is he as old as you?" asked Ben, striving to speak carelessly. "He is older if he is living; but I don't think he is living." "Why, don't you know?" "He ran away from home when he was ten years old, and we have never seen him since." "Didn't he write where he had gone?" "He wrote one letter to his mother, but he didn't say where he was. That is the last any of us heard from him." "What sort of a chap was he?" inquired Ben. "He was a bad un, wasn't he?" "No, Ben wasn't a bad boy. He had a quick temper though; but whenever he was angry he soon got over it." "What made him run away from home?"