“Thank you, Larry,” said his sister. Somehow it made the pain a little easier when her brother sympathized with her, and she resolved to be brave and say nothing at all of how she suffered. That night, when all save Larry and his mother had gone to bed, Mrs. Dexter brought out a box of papers and began sorting them over. “What are they, mother?” asked the boy. “Old documents that are of no use,” said his mother. “I thought I would burn them up and get them out of the way. I need the box to keep my thread and sewing materials in.” She began piling the papers up on the table, making two bundles; those she intended to keep and those she wanted to put in the fire. “There’s a lot of old deeds,” she said. “I guess they might as well go, since we no longer own the property.” Larry glanced at them. They were mostly for the farm up in Campton which the sheriff had sold. One document, however, caught Larry’s eye. “Hello,” he said. “What’s this? ‘Property in the State of New York, in the locality known as the Bronx.’ I say, mother, what’s this?” “Oh, that’s a deed to some land your father took a good many years ago in settlement of some money a man owed him. It’s no good though.” “Why not?” “Because your father had it looked up. It’s nothing but a piece of swamp land. He was swindled on that deal.” “Maybe it will be good some day,” said Larry. “I heard some of the reporters talking in the office to-day about the Bronx. There’s a river there. It’s quite a ways out, and the reporters hate to be sent there on stories. But maybe some day, when New York grows bigger, the land will be valuable.” “I’m afraid not,” said Mrs. Dexter with a sigh. “You might as well burn the deed up.” “No, I’ll save it,” said Larry. “It will not take up much room, and I may find a use for it.” “Very well,” spoke his mother. “But these other papers you had better destroy.” Larry looked them over, and, seeing they all referred to the farm they had recently left, and which they no longer had a claim on, he tossed them into the fire. The other deed, however, he carefully put away. Though he did not know it, the time was coming when it would prove of great worth to him and his mother. Larry reported early for work the next morning. He was more busy than the day before, and the calls of copy seemed constant. He ran back and forth until it seemed that his feet were chunks of lead and his legs like sticks of wood. Yet he did not flag, and more than once Mr. Emberg nodded pleasantly to him to show that he appreciated the boy’s attempts to please. Of course Larry made mistakes. He sometimes got the wrong proofs and took the right ones to the wrong places. But he was good-natured when told of his errors, and more than one man on the paper, busy as they all were, took an interest in him, and did much to help him. CHAPTER IX LARRY GETS A STORY