"It was beautiful, Paul. I am so much obliged to you for taking me." "I am glad you liked it, Jimmy. We will go again some time." They were stepping out on the sidewalk, when a boy about Paul's size jostled them rudely. "There's Limpy!" said he, with a rude laugh. "You'd better not say that again, Peter Blake," he said menacingly. "Why not?" demanded Peter defiantly. "It won't be safe," said Paul significantly. "I'll call you Limpy if I like." "You may call me so, and I won't mind it. But don't you call my little brother names." "I don't mind, Paul," said Jimmy. "But I do," said Paul. "No boy shall call you names when I am near." Paul's resolute character was well understood by all the boys who knew him, and Peter would not have ventured to speak as he did, but he did not at first perceive that Jimmy was accompanied by his brother. When he did discover it he slunk away as soon as he could. They were walking up Park Row, when Jim Parker, once an enemy, but now a friend of Paul, met them. He looked excited, and hurried up to meet them. "When were you home, Paul?" he asked abruptly. "Two or three hours since. I have just come from Barnum's." "Then you don't know what's happened?" Paul turned instantly. "No. What is it?" "Your house has caught fire, and is burning down. The engines are there, but I don't think they can save it." "Let us hurry home, brother," said Paul. "It's lucky I've got my bank-book with me, so if we are burned out, we can get another home at once." Excited by this startling intelligence, they quickened their steps, and soon stood in front of the burning building. CHAPTER III. THE BURNING OF THE TENEMENT HOUSE. The scene was an exciting one. The occupants of the large tenement house had vacated their rooms in alarm, each bearing what first came to hand, and reinforced by a numerous crowd of outsiders, were gazing in dismay at the sudden conflagration which threatened to make them homeless. "Och hone! och hone! that iver I should see the day!" exclaimed a poor Irish woman, wringing her hands. "It's ruined intirely I am by the fire. Is that you, Mrs. Hoffman, and Paul? Indade it's a sad day for the likes of us." "It is indeed, Mrs. McGowan. Do you know how the fire caught?" "It's all along of that drunken brute, Jim O'Connel. He was smokin' in bed, bad luck to him, as drunk as a baste, and the burnin' tobacker fell out on the shates, and set the bed on fire." "Cheer up, Mrs. McGowan!" said the hearty voice of Mrs. Donovan. "We ain't burnt up ourselves, and that's a comfort." "I've lost all my money," said Mrs. McGowan disconsolately. "I had twenty-siven dollars and thirty cents in the bank, and the bank-book's burnt up, och hone!" "You can get your money for all that, Mrs. McGowan," said Paul. "Just tell them at the savings-bank how you lost your book, and they will give you another." "Do you think so?" asked Mrs. McGowan doubtfully. "I feel sure of it."