The boy had none of these thoughts. He was only eager to get food for those he loved, and hear news that might bring smiles back to the lovely face of his sister. He was naturally sensitive, and not long ago his father had been among the most prosperous and respectable of the working classes. At another time his naked feet and worn cap, which but half concealed the bright waves of his hair, might have checked his ardor, and sent him cowering back to the concealment of his garret-home. Now he forgot the chill that penetrated his feet from the cold pavement, and went on his way, resolute to save his sister from the sorrow that had wounded him to the heart. “She hates to ask these grand people for her money,” he thought. “I will do it for her. It is a man’s place to take the brunt; and when father is fighting for his country, I must try to be man enough to act as he did.” With these thoughts, Robert mounted the marble steps of a spacious white mansion, whose walls were like petrified snow, and whose windows were each a broad sheet of crystal limpid as water. Robert’s cold feet left their tracks on the pure marble, as he mounted the steps, and his little hand drew the silver knob with breathless terror when he rang the bell. A mulatto servant opened the door, saw the lad shivering outside the vestibule, and drew back in a fit of sublime indignation. “How dare you? What brings you here?” he exclaimed, eyeing the lad with august scorn. “This is no place for vagrants or beggar-boys——” “I—I am not a beggar-boy; and I don’t think I am the other thing. If you please, I want to see the lady,” said the boy, resolutely. “The lady! What lady can you have any thing to do with?” demanded the servant. “Mrs. Savage, I think that is her name.” “Who told you that? What do you want of Mrs. Savage?” “I want some money.” “Yes, I thought as much. Now tramp, I tell you; and next time you come to a gentleman’s house, learn to go to the back gate.” “But no, no; pray don’t shut the door. My sister has done work for the lady, and——” “Very likely. Mrs. Savage is very likely to owe money to any one. My young friend your story is getting richer and richer. _She_ owe you money, indeed!” “Indeed—indeed she does.” “There, there, get out of the way. Don’t you see the young gentleman coming up the steps? Make off with yourself!” Robert turned, and saw a handsome young man spring out of one of those light wagons sometimes used for riding, in which was a pair of fiery young horses, black as jet, and specked about the chest with flashes of foam. He flung the reins to a groom as he stepped to the pavement and mounted the steps, smiling cheerfully, as if his drive had been a pleasant one. “What is this? Stop a moment, my boy,” said the young man, as Robert passed him on the steps with angry shame burning in his face. “Did you want any thing? Money to buy shoes with, perhaps; here—here.”