The farmer saw that the boy was in earnest, and although both he and his wife were sorry to have him go they made no attempt to dissuade him, but fitted him out with a new hat and shoes, and then to the lad’s intense surprise handed him a five-dollar note as a present. “Wot’s dis fur?” he demanded, looking with his keen, suspicious little blue eyes from the greenback in his hand to the farmer’s ruddy and honest face. He had agreed to work for his keep and never before in his experience had any one of his numerous employers paid him a nickel more than he was obliged to. “You’ve earned it, my boy,” said the farmer heartily, “and if you want to come back again you’ll find a home for you here the same as before. You’ve saved me hiring an extra man since you have been here and next summer if you choose to pitch in and work the same as you have this fall, I’ll do better by you than this.” Skinny was a boy of but few words, but sometimes he did a good deal of quiet thinking. He said but little in farewell to his friends, but as he was passing through the gate he turned for a last look at the house which had given him shelter and at the farmer and his wife who were still standing in the doorway and who had treated him with so much kindness. The night train bore him swiftly to New York and by nine o’clock the next morning he was standing in front of the superintendent of the Newsboys’ Lodging House, in negotiation for what he described as “first-class commerdations widder best grub in der place.” Having made arrangements for food and lodging, the boy started uptown with the intention of seeing Bruce at the truck quarters, but he had not gone many blocks before he felt a strong hand on his shoulder and heard a stern voice behind him saying: “And so you’ve turned up again, you young rascal! Now, let’s hear what you have to say for yourself!” The newsboy knew the voice at once. There was no need for him to turn his head. He felt that the hand of fate, in the person of the tall, black-bearded man, had overtaken him. But it was not the first time that the hand of vengeance or justice had fallen upon him, and no one knew better than Skinny that such a grasp is not always a sure one. Without even turning his head or uttering a single sound the boy simply slid out of his jacket, twisted himself free and darted around the nearest corner, leaving his captor standing on the sidewalk with the ragged jacket in his hand and on his face a look of rage that it was well for Skinny’s peace of mind that he did not see.