The ticket? mercy upon him! he had left it at home, lying on the table. He wrung himself away from the harsh hand pressed on his shoulder, and darted off, calling on little Joseph to follow him. Joseph obeyed, crying all the way with such sharp disappointment as only a sensitive child can feel. Robert darted up stairs, and met Joseph half way up with the ticket in his hand. “Come,” he cried, brandishing it above his head; “never say die! We’re time enough yet.” But Joseph had been sorely disappointed once, and was down-hearted enough. He had no hopes of getting in, and one rebuff had frightened him so much that he longed to run home and hide himself. But Robert was not to be daunted. He threw one arm over his brother’s shoulder and struck into a run, carrying the timid child with him like a whirlwind. At last they came to the entrance-door of the fair again, and then a panic seized on Robert, also. What if it were too late? What if the ticket was not good? What if the man drove him away again? Joseph, more timid still, drew close to him and hung back, afraid to advance, and equally afraid to leave Robert and go back. “Let’s go ahead,” cried Robert, all at once, holding out his ticket and making ready to advance. “Who’s afraid! Keep close to me, Josey, and never mind if the fellow is cross.” Still Joseph hung back. “Hurra!” This came in a low shout from Robert, who saw young Savage coming toward them. He had been a little way up the street watching for their approach. “All right, my boys,” he said, in a clear, ringing voice, that made little Joseph’s heart leap with joy; “grandmother is waiting for you. Come along!” The next moment Robert and his little brother believed themselves absolutely in Paradise. CHAPTER III. THE OLD MAID. “Miss Eliza?” “Well, my sweet child?” “Would you lend me your pearls for this one night?” “My pearls, darling? _My_ pearls? Oh, Georgie! you cannot understand the associations connected with these ornaments—the painful, the thrilling associations!” “Don’t! Pray, don’t! When you clasp your hands, and roll up your eyes in that fashion, it gives me a chill—it does, indeed!” cried Georgiana Halstead, really distressed; for when Miss Eliza went into a fit of sentiment, it was apt to go through many variations of sighs, smiles, and tears, till it ended in hysterics. “A chill, Georgiana? What is a single chill, compared to the agonies of memory that haunt this bosom?” cried Miss Eliza, pressing one large and rather bony hand on that portion of her tall person, for which her dress-maker deserved the greatest credit. “Oh, child, if you had but once listened to my history!”