The boy felt for the pin in the letter, reassured himself that it was safe, and carefully rebuttoned his jacket. I looked out of the window, and caught glimpses of houses flying by, with lights in their windows, and now and then the cheery blaze of a fire. Then I looked into his eyes again. I still had hold of his hand. "Surely," I said to myself, "this boy must have some one soul who cares for him." I determined to go a little deeper. "How did you get here, my boy?" I had leaned nearer to him. "The priest put me on the train, and a lady told me where to get off." "Oh, a lady!" Now I was getting at it! Then he was not so desolate; a lady had looked after him. "What's her name?" This with increased eagerness. "She didn't tell me, sir." I sank back on my seat. No! I was all wrong. It was a positive, undeniable, piteous fact. Seventy millions of people about him, and not one living soul to look to. Not a tie that connected him with anything. A leaf blown across a field; a bottle adrift in the sea, sailing from no port and bound for no haven. I got hold of his other hand, and looked down into his eyes, and an almost irresistible desire seized me to pick him up in my arms and hug him; he was too big to kiss, and too little to shake hands with; hugging was all there was left. But I didn't. There was something in his face that repelled any such familiarity,--a quiet dignity, pluck, and patience that inspired more respect than tenderness, that would make one want rather to touch his hat to him. Here the cab stopped with so sudden a jerk that I had to catch him by the arms to steady him. Cabby opened the door. "Morgan House, boss. Goin's awful, or I'd got ye here sooner." The boy looked up into my face; not with any show of uneasiness, only a calm patience. If he was to walk now, he was ready. "Cabby, how far is it to the asylum?" I asked. "'Bout a mile and a half." "Throw that trunk off and drive on. This boy can't walk." "I'll take him, boss." "No; I'll take him myself. Lively, now." I looked at my watch. Twenty minutes of the hour had gone. I would still have time to jump into a dress suit, but the dinner must be brief. There came a seesaw rocking, then a rebound, and a heavy thud told where the trunk had fallen. The cab sped on round a sharp corner, through a narrow street, and across a wide square. Suddenly a thought rushed over me that culminated in a creeping chill. Where was his trunk? In my anxiety over my own, I had forgotten the boy's. I turned quickly to the window, and shouted:-- "Cabby! _Cabby_, you didn't leave the boy's trunk, too, did you?" The little fellow slid down from the seat, and began fumbling around in the dark. "No, sir; I've got 'em here;" and he held up the collar box and brown paper bundle! "Is that all?" I gasped. "Oh, no, sir! I got ten cents the lady give me. Do you want to see it?" and he began cramming his chubby hand into his side pocket. "No, my son, I don't want to see it."