“Yes, in Townsend’s Book Emporium, as it’s called. It’s on Milk Street, and it’s one of the largest book stores in Boston. I saw a sign out ‘Boy Wanted,’ and I went in. I didn’t expect to get the place, for I’ve been disappointed so often of late, but I made up my mind I’d try. “Mr. Townsend--he’s a nice elderly gentleman--asked me a lot of questions, and when I got through answering them he told me to come to work in the morning. Isn’t that good news?” “Indeed, it is,” replied Mrs. Baldwin. “How much will you get?” asked his aunt anxiously. “When I was a girl, boys in book stores didn’t get more than three dollars a week.” “Times have changed since then,” declared Tom, with a laugh. “I’m to get five dollars. There’s only one bad thing about it, though.” “What’s that?” asked Mrs. Baldwin. “I’m only hired during the holiday rush. They want a boy to help out, and that’s what I’m to do. I’ll have to look for something else after the first of the year. Still, it’s better than nothing, and there are four weeks more of this year left.” “I wish it was a permanent place,” remarked Tom’s mother. “But, of course, as you say, it’s better than nothing. Perhaps if you do well, they may keep you permanently.” “I hope they do, mother. But have you any work that you want me to take home?” “Not yet, Tom. Mrs. Anderson’s dress isn’t quite finished. There is more work on it than I thought there would be, and it is going to take me a day longer.” “That means you won’t make so much money then,” said Tom, soberly. “Yes, that is so. If I had it finished I could sew on that skirt for Mrs. Thompson, and she is prompt pay.” “I can’t sew as fast as I once could,” remarked Tom’s aunt. “I’m afraid I’m not much help to you, Jeanette.” “Indeed, you are!” exclaimed Mrs. Baldwin, kindly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you--and Tom.” “If you haven’t anything for me to do then,” went on the lad, “I think I’ll get something to eat. I didn’t have any dinner.” “Oh, Tom! Didn’t you?” “No; I saved the money for car fare, as I didn’t know how far I’d have to go before I struck a job. Then, when I got this one in the book store, I thought I might as well come home and get a bite as to go to a restaurant, so I’ve got the quarter left.” “But, Tom, you must take care of your health,” said his mother. “Going without your dinner, to save money, is poor economy. You can’t afford to get sick, with two women to look after,” and she smiled fondly at her son. “Oh, I guess it didn’t hurt me, mother. But I certainly am hungry now. Is there any jam left?” “Yes; you’ll find it in the pantry.” Tom went downstairs, and was soon rattling away at the dishes in the cupboard. “Look at that!” exclaimed his aunt, as she pointed to a patch of snow and mud left by Tom’s shoes in the middle of the sewing room. “Isn’t that awful! Oh, boys are such terrible creatures!”