departed.

"No, no," Constance assured him, her hand in his.

"Den w'y'd he pinch it so quick?"

"He's going to take care of it for you, that's all."

"Will he guv me a wroten pape sayin' dat?"

"See," said the girl, only eager to relieve his anxiety, "here is my purse, and there is a great deal more money in it than you had, and I'll leave it with you, and if he doesn't return you your money, why, you shall have mine."

"Youse cert'in dere's more den Ise had?"

"Certain. Look, here are two tens and three fives and a one, besides some change."

"Dat's all hunky!" joyfully ejaculated the urchin. "Now, den, wheer kin we sneak it so he don't git his hooks on it?"

"This is to be your bed, and let's hide it under the pillow," suggested Constance, feeling as if she were playing a game. "Then you can feel of it whenever you want."

"Dat's de way to steal a base off 'im," acceded the waif. "We'll show dese guys wese oin't no bunch of easy grapes."

Scarcely was the purse concealed when a nurse appeared with a pail of water and rolls of some cloth, and after her came the doctor.

"Now, my boy," he said, with a kindness and gentleness in his voice which surprised Constance, "I've got to hurt you a little, and let's see how brave you can be." He took hold of the left leg the ankle and stretched it, at the same time manipulating the calf with the fingers of his other hand.

The boy gave a cry of pain, and clutched Constance's arm, squeezing it so as to almost make her scream; but she set her teeth determinedly and took his other hand in hers.

At a word the nurse grasped the limb and held it as it was placed, while the doctor took one of the rolls, and, dipping it in the water, unrolled it round and round the leg, with a rapidity and deftness which had, to Constance, a quality of fascination in it. A second wet bandage was wound over the first, then a dry one, and the leg was gently laid back on the litter. "Take his temperature," ordered the doctor, as he began to apply strips of adhesive plaster to the injured ribs; and though it required some persuasion by the nurse and Constance, the invalid finally was persuaded to let the little glass lie under his tongue. His task completed, Dr. Armstrong withdrew the tube and glanced at it.

"Dat medicine oin't got much taste, boss," announced the urchin, cheerfully, "but it soytenly done me lots of good."

The doctor looked up at Constance with a pleasant smile. "There's both the sense and the nonsense of the Christian Science idiocy," he said; and half in response to his smile and half in nervous relief, Constance laughed merrily.

"I am glad for anything that makes him feel better," she replied; then, colouring once more, she added, "and will you let me express my regret for my impulsive words a little while ago, and my thanks to you for relieving the suffering for which I am, to a certain extent, responsible?"

"There is no necessity for either, Miss Durant, though I am grateful for both," he replied.

"Will there be much suffering?"

"Probably no more than ordinarily occurs in such simple fractures," said the doctor; "and we'll certainly do our best that there shall not be."

"And may I see him to-morrow?"

"Certainly, if you come between eleven and one."

"Thank you," said Constance. "And one last favour. Will you tell me the way to my carriage?"

"If you will permit me, I'll see you to it," offered Dr. Armstrong.

With an acknowledgment of the head, Constance turned and took the boy's hand and said a good-bye.

"Do you suppose all newsboys are so dreadfully sharp and suspicious?" she asked of her guide, as they began to descend the stairs, more because she was conscious that he was eyeing her with steady scrutiny than for any other reason.

"I suppose the life is closer to that of the wild beast than anything we have in so-called civilisation. Even a criminal has his pals, but, like the forest animal, everyone—even his own kind—is an enemy to the street waif."

"It must be terrible to suspect and fear even kindness," sighed the girl, with a slight shudder. "I shall try to teach him what it means."

"There does not appear to be any carriage here, Miss Durant," announced her escort.

"Surely there must be. The men can't have been so stupid as not to wait!"

The doctor tapped on the window of the lodge. "Didn't this lady's carriage remain here?" he asked, when the porter had opened it.

"It stayed till the policeman came down, doctor. He ordered it to go to the police-station, and got in it."

"I forgot that my coachman must answer for the accident. Is there a cab-stand near here?"

Dr. Armstrong looked into her eyes, with an amusement which yet did not entirely obliterate the look of admiration, of which the girl was becoming more and more conscious. "The denizens of Avenue A have several cab-stands, of course," he replied, "but they prefer to keep them over on Fifth Avenue."

"It was a foolish question, I suppose" coldly retorted Constance, quite as moved thereto by the scrutiny as by the words, "but I did not even notice where the carriage was driving when we came here. Can you tell me the nearest car line which will take me to Washington Square?"

"As it is five blocks away, and the neighbourhood is not of the nicest, I shall take the liberty of walking with you to it."

"Really, I would rather not. I haven't the slightest fear," protested the girl, eager to escape both the observation and the obligation.

"But I have," calmly said her companion, as if his wish were the only thing to be considered.

For a moment Miss Durant vacillated, then, with a very slight inclination of her head, conveying the smallest quantity of consent and acknowledgment she could express, she walked out of the porte-cochere.

The doctor put himself beside her, and; they turned down the street, but not one word did she say. "If he will force his society upon me, I will at least show him my dislike of it," was her thought.

Obviously Dr. Armstrong was not disturbed by Miss Durant's programme, for the whole distance was walked in silence; and even when they halted on the corner, he said nothing, though the girl was conscious that his eyes still studied her face.

"I will not be the first to speak," she vowed to herself; but minute after minute passed without the slightest attempt or apparent wish on his part, and finally she asked, "Are you sure this line is running?"

Her attendant pointed up the street. "That yellow light is your car. I don't know why the intervals are so long this evening. Usually—"

He was interrupted by the girl suddenly clutching at her dress, and then giving an exclamation of real consternation.

"What is it?" he questioned.

"Why, I—nothing—that is, I think—I prefer to walk home, after all," she stammered.

"You mustn't do that. It's over two miles, and through a really rough district."

"I choose to, none the less," answered Constance, starting across the street.

"Then you will have to submit to my safeguard for some time longer, Miss Durant," asserted the doctor, as he overtook her.

Constance stopped. "Dr. Armstrong," she said, "I trust you will not insist on accompanying me farther, when I tell you I haven't the slightest fear of anything."

"You have no fear, Miss Durant," he answered, "because you are too young and inexperienced to even know the possibilities. This is no part of the city for you to walk alone in after dark. Your wisest course is to take a car, but if you prefer not, you had best let me go with you."

"I choose not to take a car," replied the girl, warmly, "and you have no right to accompany me against my wish."

Dr. Armstrong raised his hat. "I beg your pardon. I did not realize that my presence was not desired," he said.

Angry at both herself and him, Constance merely bowed, and walked on. "I don't see why men have to torment me so," she thought, as she hurried along. "His face was really interesting, and if he only wouldn't begin like—He never would have behaved so if—if I weren't—" Miss Durant checked even her thoughts from the word "beautiful," and allowed the words "well dressed" to explain her magnetism to the other sex. Then, as if to salve her conscience of her own hypocrisy, she added, "It really is an advantage to a girl, if she doesn't want to be bothered by men, to be born plain."

The truth of her thought was brought home to her with unexpected suddenness, for as she passed a strip of sidewalk made light by the glare from a saloon brilliant with gas, a man just coming out of its door stared boldly, and then joined her.

"Ahem!" he said.

The girl quickened her pace, but the intruder only lengthened his.

"Cold night, isn't it, darling?" he remarked, and tried to take her arm.

Constance shrank away from the familiarity with a loathing and fear which, as her persecutor followed, drove her to the curb.

"How dare you?" she burst out, finding he was not to be avoided.

"Now don't be silly, and—"

There the sentence ended, for the man was jerked backwards by the collar, and then shot forward, with a shove, full length into the gutter.

"I feared you would need assistance, Miss Durant, and so took the liberty of following you at a distance," explained Dr. Armstrong, as the cur picked himself up and slunk away.

"You are very— Thank you deeply for your kindness, Dr. Armstrong," gasped the girl, her voice trembling. "I ought to have been guided by your advice and taken the car, but the truth is, I suddenly remembered - that is, I happened to be without any money, and was ashamed to ask you for a loan. Now, if you'll lend me five cents, I shall be most grateful."

"It is said to be a feminine trait never to think of contingencies," remarked the doctor, "and I think, Miss Durant, that your suggested five cents has a tendency in that direction. I will walk with you to Lexington Avenue, which is now your nearest line, and if you still persist then in refusing my escort, I shall insist that you become my debtor for at least a dollar."

"I really need not take you any further than the car, thank you, Dr. Armstrong, for I can get a cab at Twenty-third Street."

It was a short walk to the car line,—too short, indeed, for Miss Durant to express her sense of obligation as she wished,—and she tried, even as she was mounting the steps, to say a last word, but the car swept her away with the sentence half spoken; and with a want of dignity that was not customary in her, she staggered to a seat. Then as she tendered a dollar bill to the conductor, she remarked to herself,—

"Now, that's a man I'd like for a friend, if only he wouldn't be foolish."

At eleven on the following morning, Miss Durant's carriage once more stopped at the hospital door; and, bearing a burden of flowers, and followed by the footman carrying a large basket, Constance entered the ward, and made her way to the waif's bedside.

"Good-morning," she said to Dr. Armstrong, who stood beside the next patient. "How is our invalid doing?"

"Good-morning," responded the doctor, taking the hand she held out. "I think—"

"We's takin' life dead easy, dat's wot wese is," came the prompt interruption from the pillow, in a voice at once youthful yet worn. "Say, dis oin't no lead pipe cinch, oh, no!"

It was a very different face the girl found, for soap and water had worked wonders with it, and the scissors and brush had reduced the tangled shag of hair to order. Yet the ferret eyes and the alert, over-sharp expression were unchanged.

"I've brought you some flowers and goodies," said Miss Durant. "I don't know how much of it will be good for him," she went on to the doctor, apologetically, "but I hope some will do." Putting the flowers on the bed, from the basket she produced in succession two bottles of port, a mould of wine jelly, a jar of orange marmalade, a box of wafers, and a dish of grapes, apples, and bananas.

"Gee! Won't Ise have a hell of a gorge!" joyfully burst out the invalid.

"We'll see about that," remarked Dr. Armstrong, smiling. "He can have all the other things you've brought, in reason, Miss Durant, except the wine. That must wait till we see how much fever he develops to-day,"

"He is doing well?"

"So far, yes."

"That is a great relief to me. And, Dr. Armstrong, in returning your loan to me, will you let me say once again how grateful I am to you for all your kindness, for which I thanked you so inadequately last night? I deserved all that came to me, and can only wonder how you ever resisted saying, 'I told you so.'"

"I have been too often wrong in my own diagnosing to find any satisfaction or triumph in the mistakes of others," said the doctor, as he took the bill the girl held out to him, and, let it be confessed, the fingers that held it, "nor can I regret anything which gave me an opportunity to serve you."

The speaker put an emphasis on the last word, and eyed Miss Durant in a way that led her to hastily withdraw her fingers, and turn away from his unconcealed admiration. It was to find the keen eyes of the urchin observing them with the closest attention; and as she realised it, she coloured, half in embarrassment and half in irritation.

"How is your leg?" she asked, in an attempt to divert the boy's attention and to conceal her own feeling.

"Say. Did youse know dey done it up in plaster, so dat it's stiff as a bat?" responded the youngster, eagerly. "Wish de udder kids could see it, for dey'll never believe it w'en Ise tells 'em. I'll show it to youse if youse want?" he offered, in his joy over the novelty.

"I saw it put on," said Constance. "Don't you remember?"

"Why, cert! Ise remembers now dat—" A sudden change came over the boy's face. "Wheer's dem cloes youse promised me?" he demanded.

"Oh, I entirely forgot—"

"Ah, forgit youse mudder! Youse a peach, oin't youse?" contemptuously broke in the child.

Miss Durant and Dr. Armstrong both burst out laughing.

"Youse t'ink youse a smarty, but Ise know'd de hull time it wuz only a big bluff dat youse wuz tryin' to play on me, an' it didn't go wid me, nah!" went on the youngster, in an aggrieved tone.

"Isn't he perfectly incorrigible?" sighed Constance.

"Ise oin't," denied the boy, indignantly. "Deyse only had me up onct."

With the question the girl had turned to Dr. Armstrong; then, finding his eyes still intently studying her, she once more gave her attention to the waif.

"Really, I did forget them," she asserted. "You shall have a new suit long before you need it."

"Cert'in dat oin't no fake extry youse shoutin'?"

"Truly. How old are you?"

"Wotcher want to know for?" suspiciously asked the boy.

"So I can buy a suit for that age."

"Dat goes. Ise ate."

"And what's your name?"

"Swot."

"What?" exclaimed the girl.

"Nah. Swot," he corrected.

"How do you spell it?"

"Dun'no'. Dat's wot de newsies calls me, 'cause of wot Ise says to de preacher man."

"And what was that?"

"It wuz one of dem religious mugs wot comes Sunday to de Mulberry Park, see, an' dat day he wuz gassin' to us kids 'bout lettin' a guy as had hit youse onct doin' it ag'in; an' w'en he'd pumped hisself empty, he says to me, says he, 'If a bad boy fetched youse a lick on youse cheek, wot would youse do to 'im?' An' Ise says, 'I'd swot 'im in de gob, or punch 'im in de slats,' says I; an' so de swipes calls me by dat noime. Honest, now, oin't dat kinder talk jus' sickenin'?"

"But you must have another name," suggested Miss Durant, declining to commit herself on that question.

"Sure."

"And what is that?"

"McGarrigle."

"And have you no father or mother?"

"Nah."

"Or brothers or sisters?"

"Nah. Ise oin't got nuttin'."

"Where do you live?"

"Ah, rubber!" disgustedly