Surely there is a Providence which watches over all; and Lieutenant Reynolds’s thoughtfulness was not a mere chance, but the answer to the simple trust Aunt Betsy had that God would take her safely to New York. The conductor knew Lieutenant Bob, and attended as faithfully to his wishes as if it had been a born princess instead of Aunt Betsy Barlow whom he led to a street car, ascertaining the number on the Bowery where she wished to stop, and reporting to the conductor, who bowed in acquiescence, after glancing at the woman, and knowing intuitively that she was from the country. Could she have divested herself wholly of the fear that the conductor would forget to put her off at the right place, Aunt Betsy would have enjoyed that ride very much; and as it was, she looked around with interest, thinking New York a mightily cluttered-up place, and wondering if all the folks were in the streets; then, as a lady in flaunting robes took a seat beside her, crowding her into a narrow space, the good old dame thought to show that she did not resent it, by an attempt at sociability, asking if she knew “Miss Peter Tubbs, whose husband kept a store on the Bowery?” “I have not that honor,” was the haughty reply, the lady drawing up her costly shawl and moving a little away from her interlocutor, who continued, “I thought like enough you might have seen ’Tilda, or Mattie as she calls herself now. She is a right nice girl, and Tom is a very forrard boy.” To this there was no reply; and as the lady soon left the car, Aunt Betsy did not make another attempt at conversation, except to ask once how far they were from the Bowery, adding, as she received a civil answer, “You don’t know Mr. Peter Tubbs?” That worthy man was evidently a stranger to the occupants of that car, which stopped at last upon a crossing, the conductor pointing back a few doors to the right, and telling her that was her number. “I should s’pose he might have driv right up, instead of leaving me here,” she said, looking wistfully after the retreating car. “Coats, and trowsers, and jackets! I wonder if there is nothing else to be seen here,” she continued, as her eye caught the long line of clothing so conspicuously displayed in that part of the Bowery. “’Taint no great shakes,” was the feeling struggling into Aunt Betsy’s mind, as with Tom’s outline map in hand she peered at the numbers of the doors, finding the right one, and ringing the bell with a force which brought Mattie at once to the rescue. If Mattie was not glad to see her guest, she seemed to be, which answered every purpose for the tired woman, who followed her into the dark, narrow hall, and up the narrow stairs, through a still darker hall, and into the front parlor, which looked out upon the Bowery.