"Not much. I've got four papers left over, and that will take away about all my profits." "What a pity you are poor, Charlie. I wish you could come to school with us." "So do I, Eddie. I'd give a good deal to get an education, but I feel that I ought to help mother." "Why won't you come some time, and see us, Charlie? Clare and myself would be very glad to see you at any time." "I should like to go," said Charlie, "but I don't look fit." "Oh, never mind about your clothes. I like you just as well as if you were dressed in style." "Perhaps I'll come some time," said Charlie. "I'd invite you to come and see me, but we live in a poor place." "Just as if I should care for that. I will come whenever I get an invitation." "Then come next Saturday afternoon. I will be waiting for you as you come out of school." Charlie little thought where he would be when Saturday came. Shortly after the boys separated, and Charlie's attention was arrested by the sight of an old man with a shambling gait, who was bending over and anxiously searching for something on the sidewalk. Charlie recognized him at once as "old Manson, the miser," for this was the name by which he generally went. Old Peter Manson was not more than fifty-five, but he looked from fifteen to twenty years older. If his body had been properly cared for, it would have been different; but, one by one, its functions had been blunted and destroyed, and it had become old and out of repair. Peter's face was ploughed with wrinkles. His cheeks were thin, and the skin was yellow and hung in folds. His beard appeared to have received little or no attention for a week, at least, and was now stiff and bristling. The miser's dress was not very well fitted to his form. It was in the fashion of twenty years before. Grayish pantaloons, patched in divers places with dark cloth by an unskilful hand; a vest from which the buttons had long since departed, and which was looped together by pieces of string, but not closely enough to conceal a dirty and tattered shirt beneath; a coat in the last stages of shabbiness; while over all hung a faded blue cloak, which Peter wore in all weathers. In the sultriest days of August he might have been seen trudging along in this old mantle, which did him the good service of hiding a multitude of holes and patches, while in January he went no warmer clad. There were some who wondered how he could stand the bitter cold of winter with no more adequate covering; but if Peter's body was as tough as his conscience, there was no fear of his suffering. Charlie paused a moment to see what it was that the old man was hunting for. "Have you lost anything?" he asked. "Yes," said Peter, in quavering accents. "See if you can't find it, that's a good boy. Your eyes are better than mine." "What is it?" "It is some money, and I--I'm so poor, I can't afford to lose it." "How much was it?" "It wasn't much, but I'm so poor I need it."