He was bending his steps towards the meeting of Beaver and Little South Sts., the sole point of light which he knew in the city. It seemed to him that rather less of the sun's cheer got into Diamond St. than anywhere else. Bank St. was a heartsome place in comparison. He made his way slowly up Beaver St. looking for Little South, and passing what to him were a great many streets without finding that one. As he drew near still another, his eye was taken with a man standing on the sidewalk before the corner house; a tall, personable, clean-looking man; who on his part looked first steadily at Winthrop and then came down to meet him, laughing and holding out his hand before he got near. "How do you do?" was his first cordial salutation. -- "It's Mr. Landholm! -- I knew it! -- I knew you, from your likeness to your brother. We've been looking for you. Come in, come in! How is your brother, Mr. Landholm?" Winthrop was taken by surprise and could hardly say. "I knew you as far off as I could see you -- I said to myself, 'That's Mr. Landholm!' I am very glad to see you, sir. You've just got here?" "This morning. But what right have I to be expected?" "O we knew you were coming. Your room's ready for you -- empty and waiting, and we've been waiting and lonesome too, ever since Mr. William went away. How _is_ Mr. William, Mr. Landholm?" "Well, sir, and full of kindly remembrances of you." "Ah, he's not forgotten here," said Mr. Inchbald. "He won't be forgotten anywhere. Here's my sister, Mr. Landholm, -- my sister, Mrs. Nettley. -- Now, my dear sir, before we sit down, tell me, -- you haven't any other place to stay?" "I have not, Mr. Inchbald, indeed." "Then come up and see what we have to give you, before we strike a bargain. Doll -- won't you give us a cup of tea by the time we come down? Mr. Landholm will be the better of the refreshment. You have had a tiresome journey this weather, Mr. Landholm?" As they mounted the stairs he listened to Winthrop's account of his illness, and looked at him when they got to the top, with a grave face of concern it was pleasant to meet. They had come up to the very top; the house was a small and insignificant wooden one, of two stories. "This is your room," said Mr. Inchbald, opening the door of the front attic, -- "this is the room your brother had; it's not much, and there's not much in it; but now my dear friend, _till_ you find something better, will you keep possession of it? and give us the pleasure of having you? -- and one thing more, will you speak of pay when you are perfectly at leisure to think of it, and not before, or never, just as it happens; -- will you?" "I'll take you at your word, sir; and you shall take me at mine, when the time comes."