said a middle-aged spectator, gravely.

"I'm sure I don't know what possessed her to run away," said Mary, confusedly.

"She wouldn't if she had been properly looked after," said the gentleman, sharply, for he had children of his own.

Hector was about to release the child, now that he had saved her, but she was not disposed to let him go.

"You go with me, too!" she said.

She was a pretty child, with a sweet face, rimmed round by golden curls, her round, red cheeks glowing with exercise.

"What is her name?" asked Hector, of the nurse.

"Grace Newman," answered the nurse, who felt the necessity of saying something in her own defense. "She's a perfect little runaway. She worries my life out running round after her."

"Grace Newman!" said the middle-aged gentleman already referred to.

"Why, she must be the child of my friend, t.i.tus Newman, of Pearl Street."

"Yes, sir," said the nurse.

"My old friend little knows what a narrow escape his daughter has had."

"I hope you won't tell him, sir," said Mary, nervously.

"Why not?"

"Because he would blame me."

"And so he ought!" said the gentleman, nodding vigorously. "It's no merit of yours that she wasn't crushed beneath the wheels of that carriage. If you had been attending to your duty, she wouldn't have been in danger."

"I don't see as it's any business of yours," said Mary, pertly. "You ain't her father, or her uncle."

"I am a father, and have common humanity," said the gentleman, "and I consider you unfit for your place."

"Come along, Grace!" said Mary, angry at being blamed. "You've behaved very badly, and I'm going to take you home."

"Won't you come, too?" asked the little girl, turning to Hector.

"No, there's no call for him to come," said the nurse, pulling the child away.

"Good-by, Gracie," said Hector, kindly.

"Good-by!" responded the child.

"These nursemaids neglect their charges criminally," said the gentleman, directing his remarks to Hector. "Mr. Newman owes his child's safety, perhaps her life, to your prompt courage."

"She was in great danger," said Hector. "I was afraid at first I could not save her."

"A second later and it would have been too late. What is your name, my brave young friend?"

"Hector Roscoe, sir."

"It is a good name. Do you live in the city?"

"At present I do, sir. I was brought up in the country."

"Going to school, I take it."

"I am looking for a place, sir."

"I wish I had one to give you. I retired from business two years since, and have no employment for anyone."

"Thank you, sir; I should have liked to serve you."

"But I'll tell you what, my young friend, I have a considerable acquaintance among business men. If you will give me your address, I may have something to communicate to you ere long."

"Thank you, sir."

Hector drew a card from his pocket, and added to it the number of Mr.

Ross' house.

"I am much obliged to you for your kind offer," he said.

"You don't look as if you stood in need of employment," said the gentleman, noticing the fine material of which Hector's suit was made.

"Appearances are sometimes deceitful," said Hector, half smiling.

"You must have been brought up in affluence," said Mr. Davidson, for this was his name.

"Yes, sir, I was. Till recently I supposed myself rich."

"You shall tell me the story some time; now I must leave you."

"Well," thought Hector, as he made his way homeward, "I have had adventures enough for one morning."

When Hector reached the house in Forty-second Street, he found Walter just rising from his lessons.

"Well, Hector, what have you been doing?" asked Walter.

"Wandering about the city."

"Did you see anybody you knew while doing so?"

"Oh, yes! I was particularly favored. I saw Allan Roscoe and Guy--"

"You don't say so! Were they glad to see you?"

"Not particularly. When Guy learned that I was staying here, he proposed to call and make your acquaintance."