“I didn't mean that. You have been supporting me--giving me board and clothes--for three years. It is only right that you should have what I earn.” “The offer is an honorable one on your part, Paul,” said the sexton; “but I don't need it. If it will please you, I will take two dollars a week for your board, now, and out of the balance you may clothe yourself, and save what you can.” This arrangement seemed to be a fair one. Mr. Cameron deposited the five dollar note in his pocket-book, and passed one of three dollars to Paul. This sum our hero deposited the next Monday morning, in a savings bank. He estimated that he could clothe himself comfortably for fifty dollars a year. This would leave him one hundred towards the payment of the debt due to Squire Conant. “By-and-by my salary will be raised,” thought Paul. “Then I can save more.” He looked forward with eager anticipation to the time when he should be able to redeem his father's name, and no one would be entitled to cast reproach upon his memory. He endeavored to perform his duties faithfully in the office, and to learn as rapidly as he could the business upon which he had entered. He soon found that he must depend mainly upon himself. George Dawkins seemed disposed to afford him no assistance, but repelled scornfully the advances which Paul made towards cordiality. He was by no means as faithful as Paul, but whenever Mr. Danforth was absent from the office, spent his time in lounging at the window, or reading a cheap novel, with one of which he was usually provided. When Paul became satisfied that Dawkins was not inclined to accept his overtures, he ceased to court his acquaintance, and confined himself to his own desk. One day as he was returning from dinner, he was startled by an unceremonious slap upon the shoulder. Looking up in some surprise, he found that this greeting had come from a man just behind him, whose good-humored face and small, twinkling eyes, he at once recognized. “How do you do, Mr. Stubbs?” inquired Paul, his face lighting up with pleasure. “I'm so's to be round. How be you?” returned the worthy pedler, seizing our hero's hand and shaking it heartily. Mr. Stubbs was attired in all the glory of a blue coat with brass buttons and swallow tails. “When did you come to New York?” asked Paul. “Just arrived; that is, I got in this mornin'. But I say, how you've grown. I shouldn't hardly have known you.” “Shouldn't you, though?” said Paul, gratified as most boys are, on being told that he had grown. “Have you come to the city on business?” “Well, kinder on business, and kinder not. I thought I'd like to have a vacation. Besides, the old lady wanted a silk dress, and she was sot on havin' it bought in York. So I come to the city.” “Where are you stopping, Mr. Stubbs?” “Over to the Astor House. Pretty big hotel, ain't it?” “Yes, I see you are traveling in style.”