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kid.”

      “Have you always lived with him?”

      “Yes, but not in New York.”

      “Where then?”

      “In Melbourne.”

      “That’s in Australia.”

      “Yes, miss.”

      “How long since you came to New York?”

      “I guess it’s about three years.”

      “And you have always had this man as a guardian? Poor boy!”

      “You’ve got a different father from me, miss?”

      Tears forced themselves to the eyes of Florence, as this remark brought forcibly to her mind the position in which she was placed.

      “Alas!” she answered, impulsively, “I am alone in the world!”

      “What! ain’t the old gentleman that lives here your father?”

      “He is my uncle; but he is very, very angry with me, and has this very day ordered me to leave the house.”

      “Why, what a cantankerous old ruffian he is, to be sure!” exclaimed the boy, indignantly.

      “Hush! you must not talk against my uncle. He has always been kind to me till now.”

      “Why, what’s up? What’s the old gentleman mad about?”

      “He wants me to marry my cousin Curtis—a man I do not even like.”

      “That’s a shame! Is it the dude I saw come out of the house a little while ago?”

      “Oh, no; that’s a different gentleman. It’s Mr. de Brabazon.”

      “You don’t want to marry him, do you?”

      “No, no!”

      “I’m glad of that. He don’t look as if he knew enough to come in when it rained.”

      “The poor young man is not very brilliant, but I think I would rather marry him than Curtis Waring.”

      “I’ve seen him, too. He’s got dark hair and a dark complexion, and a wicked look in his eye.”

      “You, too, have noticed that?”

      “I’ve seen such as him before. He’s a bad man.”

      “Do you know anything about him?” asked Florence, eagerly.

      “Only his looks.”

      “I am not deceived,” murmured Florence, “it’s not wholly prejudice. The boy distrusts him, too. So you see, Dodger,” she added, aloud, “I am not a rich young lady, as you suppose. I must leave this house, and work for my living. I have no home any more.”

      “If you have no home,” said Dodger, impulsively, “come home with me.”

      “To the home you have described, my poor boy? How could I do that?”

      “No; I will hire a room for you in a quiet street, and you shall be my sister. I will work for you, and give you my money.”

      “You are kind, and I am glad to think I have found a friend when I need one most. But I could not accept stolen money. It would be as bad as if I, too, were a thief.”

      “I am not a thief! That is, I won’t be any more.”

      “And you will give up your plan of robbing my uncle?”

      “Yes, I will; though I don’t know what my guv’nor will say. He’ll half murder me, I expect. He’ll be sure to cut up rough.”

      “Do right, Dodger, whatever happens. Promise me that you will never steal again?”

      “There’s my hand, miss—I promise. Nobody ever talked to me like you. I never thought much about bein’ respectable, and growin’ up to be somebody, but if you take an interest in me, I’ll try hard to do right.”

      At this moment, Mr. Linden, clad in a long morning gown, and holding a candle in his hand, entered the room, and started in astonishment when he saw Florence clasping the hand of one whose appearance led him to stamp as a young rough.

      “Shameless girl!” he exclaimed, in stern reproof. “So this is the company you keep when you think I am out of the way!”

      CHAPTER VI.

      A TEMPEST

      The charge was so strange and unexpected that Florence was overwhelmed. She could only murmur:

      “Oh, uncle!”

      Her young companion was indignant. Already he felt that Florence had consented to accept him as a friend, and he was resolved to stand by her.

      “I say, old man,” he bristled up, “don’t you go to insult her! She’s an angel!”

      “No doubt you think so,” rejoined Mr. Linden, in a tone of sarcasm. “Upon my word, miss, I congratulate you on your elevated taste. So this is your reason for not being willing to marry your Cousin Curtis?”

      “Indeed, uncle, you are mistaken. I never met this boy till to-night.”

      “Don’t try to deceive me. Young man, did you open my secretary?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “And robbed it into the bargain,” continued Linden, going to the secretary, and examining it. He did not, however, miss the will, but only the roll of bills. “Give me back the money you have taken from me, you young rascal!”

      “I took nothing, sir.”

      “It’s a lie! The money is gone, and no one else could have taken it.”

      “I don’t allow no one to call me a liar. Just take that back, old man, or I–”

      “Indeed, uncle, he took nothing, for he had only just opened the secretary when I woke up and spoke to him.”

      “You stand by him, of course, shameless girl! I blush to think that you are my niece. I am glad to think that my eyes are opened before it is too late.”

      The old merchant rang the bell violently, and aroused the house. Dodger made no attempt to escape, but stood beside Florence in the attitude of a protector. But a short time elapsed before Curtis Waring and the servants entered the room, and gazed with wonder at the tableau presented by the excited old man and the two young people.

      “My friends,” said John Linden, in a tone of excitement, “I call you to witness that this girl, whom I blush to acknowledge as my niece, has proved herself unworthy of my kindness. In your presence I cut her off, and bid her never again darken my door.”

      “But what has she done, uncle?” asked Curtis. He was prepared for the presence of Dodger, whom he rightly concluded to be the agent of Tim Bolton, but he could not understand why Florence should be in the library at this late hour. Nor was he able to understand the evidently friendly relations between her and the young visitor.

      “What has she done?” repeated John Linden. “She has introduced that young ruffian into the house to rob me. Look at that secretary! He has forced it open, and stolen a large sum of money.”

      “It is not true, sir,” said Dodger, calmly, “about taking the money, I mean. I haven’t taken a cent.”

      “Then why did you open the secretary?”

      “I did mean to take money, but she stopped me.”

      “Oh, she stopped you?” repeated Linden, with withering sarcasm. “Then, perhaps, you will tell me where the money is gone?”

      “He hasn’t discovered about the will,” thought Curtis, congratulating himself; “if the boy has it, I must manage to give him a chance to escape.”

      “You can search me if you want to,” continued Dodger, proudly. “You won’t find no money on me.”

      “Do you think I am a fool, you young burglar?” exclaimed John Linden, angrily.

      “Uncle,

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