The weather had changed considerably within the last twelve hours, a light snow was falling. Tommy handed in the wraps through the window. "Did you tell them drivers where to go, sir?" asked Tommy. "Yes. Jump in and keep behind us," was the reply. Now it happened that there were many cabs in the station, and most of them were laden with luggage, so that it was difficult to tell one from the other. People were rushing about hither and thither, porters were wheeling trunks on barrows, and pushing all out of their way. A hand truck went over Tommy's foot, which made him set up a howl of pain. Scarcely had this happened than he was caught in a rush of people and carried halfway down the platform. Having got out of this crush, he retraced his steps and tried to find out his cab, but as all the four-wheeled London cabs resemble each other, it was not an easy task. At length he fancied he had found the right one, and opening the door, got in. "Go on," said he. The driver, however, got down from his box, and eying the boy sternly through the window, replied: "Who are you tellin' to go on?" "Why, you, of course." "Did you engage me?" "I didn't hire you, but my boss did," replied Tommy, "and he told you where to go to." "Where's that?" Tommy scratched his head in perplexity. He had heard the name of the hotel, but the rush, the whirl, and the bustle of the moment had driven it clean out of his head. "I've forgotten!" he exclaimed. "But it don't matter so long as the boss told you, and you know." "Look here, young fellow," replied the cabman, "this game won't wash. I never see you before, and I don't know nothing about bosses. You get out." "What d'you mean?" cried Tommy, "ain't the trunks got the name of Stocker on them?" "No, they haven't. It's name of Jones. See for yourself." "I'll stay here," answered Tommy. "Will you?" "You bet I will. It's my opinion you want to steal the property." This insinuation was more than the man could bear. He stretched out his arm, seized Tommy by the collar, and dragging him out, flung him on the platform, where he fell on his back. At that moment the gentleman who had in reality engaged the cab appeared with his wife, got in, and was driven off. Tommy, still of opinion that the cab held Mr. Stocker's property, ran after it out of the station, but it went quicker than he, so that he soon lost sight of it in the blinding snow. Thus died away his last hope. He had lost all trace of his kind protectors, and it seemed as if it was impossible to find them again. How could he gain any news of them in such a vast wilderness as London? The snow was descending in thick, heavy flakes. Where could he go for shelter? In his pocket he had not a cent, and he did not know anyone in the whole metropolis. With a terrible dread of starvation, or being frozen to death, he leaned against a lamp-post. Suddenly a policeman came upon him. "What are you doing here?" he asked, roughly.