CHAPTER XII. JAMES MAKES AN ACQUAINTANCE. “Please, will you tell some one to empty the basket. I’ve been away from the store ever so long.” It was the voice of little James, who had been modestly waiting to be noticed while this eager conversation went on, and now addressed Ellen as the most important person in the room. “Groceries,” cried the girl, with a magnificent lift of the head. “Do I look as if groceries belonged to my department, boy?” “Give ’em to me,” cried the cook, swinging the basket up to a dresser with the nerve of a giant. “There is a mighty difference between buttoning a lady’s boots and cooking her dinner, of course. We are all fine ladies here, only it hasn’t got about yet. There, now, run home as quick as you like.” “Has that boy been listening all this time?” cried Ellen, casting angry glances at the blushing young face. “I—I tried all I could not to hear,” said the boy, modestly. “It was not my fault; I wanted to get away from the first.” “Well, mind you hold your tongue about anything I’ve been saying, or you’ll get into trouble, and lose madam’s custom.” “That’s just as _I_ say,” answered the cook, defiantly. “You stick to your ribbons and curling stick, Ellen Post; I and this boy can get along very well without you. There’s your empty basket, my little fellow; now run home, and don’t mind what any one says to you but myself; but remember to come earlier to-morrow, for I am bound to go out early anyhow, having a little business at the Savings Bank that must be seen to, not being one of them stuck-up persons that heap everything on their own backs—I look out for a rainy day, I do.” Here the cook lifted her head in the air and took a deliberate survey of Ellen Post, at which stage of the quarrel James left the kitchen, full of wonder that there could be so much discontent in a house like that. On his way home, the lad almost ran against a gentleman who was walking slowly along the side-walk. In attempting to avoid the collision his foot slipped, and he fell forward upon the flags with a force that stunned him for the moment. The gentleman lifted him from the stones in considerable agitation, and putting back the hair from his forehead, examined the bruise, which was swelling rapidly upon it. “My poor boy,” he said, in a voice so sweet with compassion that tears swelled into the lad’s eyes at once, though the pain of his fall had brought no moisture there. “Oh, it’s nothing, sir! We boys are used to such tumbles. You are only too kind about it. All my own fault, sir, thank you!” “No, but you are hurt, and need help. I cannot let you go home alone.” James tried to get up a brave laugh; but the blow had made him dizzy, and he staggered forward rather than walked. “Where do you live? Not far from here, I suppose,” inquired the stranger, with gentle kindness. “Oh! I live in one place and tend store in another,” answered the boy.