The young man took out his porte-monnaie, and selecting a bank-note from its contents, handed it to the boy. “No, sir—no, sir. I did not come to beg; though he says I did,” cried the boy, with tears in his eyes. “Then what did you come for, my boy?” “The lady in yonder hired my sister to do some work for a fair, and it is that I come about. We need the money so much; and Anna is ashamed to ask for it. She would rather go hungry.” “What, my mother owes money to a working-girl, who hesitates to ask for it!—that must be from mistake or forgetfulness. Is Mrs. Savage at home, Jared?” “No, sir,” answered the servant. “She is with the committee, and will be till late.” The young man turned to Robert again. The boy was watching him with wistful attention. Tears stood in those large blue eyes, and under its glow of new-born hope the face was beautiful. No beggar-boy, immortalized by Murillo, was ever more striking. Young Savage had a kind heart, but his tastes were peculiarly fastidious; and it is doubtful if a common boy, with bare feet and poverty-stricken clothes, could have kept him so long on those marble steps. “Come,” he said, bending a kindly glance on the lad, “if your home is not far from here, I will go with you and settle this matter.” The lad hesitated, and cast down his eyes. He was ashamed to take this elegant gentleman into his home, or that his beautiful sister should be found in that place. Young Savage mistook this hesitation for a less worthy feeling. “The boy is a little impostor,” he said to himself. “He has seen my mother go out, and hopes to obtain something by this ridiculous claim. I will unearth the little fox!” “Come, come,” he said, laughing lightly, “show me the way.” Robert was a sharp lad, and read something of the truth in that handsome face. He turned at once and went down the steps. Savage followed him, interested in spite of himself, and half amused at the idea of ferreting out a deception. Robert did not speak, but looked back, now and then, as he turned a corner, to be sure that the gentleman was following him. The face of young Savage grew more and more serious, as he passed deeper into the neighborhood where low shanties, and high, barren-looking tenement-houses were crowded together. He passed whole families huddled together in the entrance to some damp basement, cold as it was, craving the fresh air that could not be found within. Groups of reckless children, happy in spite of their visible destitution, were playing in the twilight, which filled the poverty of the street with a golden haze, such as heaven alone lends to the poor. The sight pained him, and he grew thoughtful. “Here is the place, sir,” said Robert, pausing at the door of a tall, bleak building, crowded full of windows that turned coldly to the north. “If you please, I will run up first and tell them you are coming.” “No, no, that will never do,” answered Savage. “I shall lose my way along this railway of stairs.”