“But perhaps you might not be able to get work.” “Oh, yes, I should, ma’am. I never was out’n it till I got sick. Ef I can’t get one sort o’ work I can get anudder. Yo’ see, ma’am, I can turn my han’ to ’mos’ anythin’ in the way o’ plain, hard work,” said the lad, with sublime self-reliance, and with unconscious heroism. “Oh-h-h! Ain’t he possessed of common sense!” exclaimed Owlet in a rapture of admiration. “I quite agree with you, my little owl,” said Roma as she arose to take leave of the boy, repeating her promise to send Tom with his money in the afternoon. “Thanky, ma’am. I’ll be awful glad to see old Tom! I haven’t seen him since I have been in de hospital. I reckon Tom was too bashful to come an’ see me, ’mong so many strangers.” “Very likely; but he will be glad to come when he has the excuse of being sent on an errand,” said Miss Fronde. Before Roma left the hospital she spoke to both nurse and doctor, telling them that as she had permission to do so, she should take Titus Blair away on some evening, so as to have him ready to go with her party the next week. When they reached Miss Fronde’s apartments at the Wesleyan they found that Owlet’s new outfit had arrived. Owlet dressed herself in a seal-brown cashmere frock, trimmed with satin of the same color, and went down with her lady to dinner. They found Tom there, waiting to serve them. When the dishes of the first course had been placed upon the table Roma said: “Tom, I wish to send you on an errand this afternoon, to take something to Titus Blair, at the Children’s Hospital.” “All yight, mist’ess,” said the boy, with a bow. “I’ll be yeady to go ’mediately arter dinner. I be moughty p’oud to go see po’ Titus.” Half an hour later Roma got the sick boy’s little purse from Mrs. Brown and gave it to Tom to take to its owner. “You may tell Titus that you are going to the Isle of Storms with us, Tom. I forgot to do so,” said Miss Fronde. “Oh, mist’ess, I doane like to do dat,” replied the boy. “But why?” “’Ca’se it make po’ sick Titus feel so bad ’ca’se he can’t go, too.” “But Titus is going with us.” “Oh, Lor’, mist’ess! yo’ doane say so? Oh, aine I glad!” “Yes. Now run away, or it will be too late for you to get admission to the hospital.” Tom only waited until he reached the sidewalk before he turned a somersault for joy, stood on his head, and kicked, toppled over, picked himself up, and ran, leaping and dancing, to the corner of Fourteenth Street, to take the car for the Children’s Hospital. That afternoon Roma found her first opportunity of questioning Owlet. She heard every detail of her abduction from Goblin Hall, her journey, and her sojourn in New York, that the child knew, and, much more than any one else, had been able to draw from her.