“But one who prefers to remain unknown cannot restrain her grateful thanks to Mr. Stirling for what he did; and being debarred from such acts herself, asks that at least she may be permitted to aid him in them by enclosing a counsel fee for ‘the case of the tenement children of New York against the inhumanity of men’s greed.’ “September third.” Peter looked at the enclosure, and found it was a check for five hundred dollars. He laid it on his desk, and read the note over again. It was beyond question written by a lady. Every earmark showed that, from the delicate scent of the paper, to the fine, even handwriting. Peter wanted to know who she was. He looked at the check to see by whom it was signed; to find that it was drawn by the cashier of the bank at which it was payable. Half an hour later, a rapid walk had brought him to the bank the name of which was on the check. It was an uptown one, which made a specialty of family and women’s accounts. Peter asked for the cashier. “I’ve called about this check,” he said, when that official materialized, handing the slip of paper to him. “Yes,” said the cashier kindly, though with a touch of the resigned sorrow in his voice which cashiers of “family’s” and women’s banks acquire. “You must sign your name on the back, on the left-hand end, and present it to the paying-teller, over at that window. You’ll have to be identified if the paying-teller doesn’t know you.” “I don’t want the money,” said Peter, “I want to know who sent the check to me?” The cashier looked at it more carefully. “Oh!” he said. Then he looked up quickly at Peter? with considerable interest, “Are you Mr. Stirling?” “Yes.” “Well, I filled this up by order of the president, and you’ll have to see him about it, if you want more than the money.” “Can I see him?” “Come this way.” They went into a small office at the end of the bank. “Mr. Dyer,” said the cashier, “this is Mr. Stirling, and he’s come to see about that check.” “Glad to see you, Mr. Stirling. Sit down.” “I wish to learn who sent the check.” “Very sorry we can’t oblige you. We had positive instructions from the person for whom we drew it, that no name was to be given.” “Can you receive a letter?” “That was forbidden too.” “A message?” “Nothing was said about that.” “Then will you do me the favor to say to the lady that the check will not be cashed till Mr. Stirling has been able to explain something to her.” “Certainly. She can’t object to that.” “Thank you.” “Not at all.” The president rose and escorted him to the door. “That was a splendid speech of yours, Mr. Stirling,” he added. “I’m not a bit ashamed to say that it put salt water in my old eyes.” “I think,” said Peter, “it was the deaths of the poor little children, more than anything I said, that made people feel it.” The next morning’s mail brought Peter a second note, in the same handwriting as that of the day before. It read: