Hidden Hand. Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte Southworth

journey alone. This also caused much speculation in the family.

      "Who's gwine to make his punch and warm his bed and put his slippers on the hearth and hang his gown to de fire?—that what I want to know!" cried the grieved and indignant Wool.

      "Oh, the waiters at the taverns where he stops can do that for him," said Mrs. Condiment.

      "No, they can't, nuther; they don't know his ways! they don't know nuffin' 'bout him! I 'clare, I think our ole marse done gone clean crazy! I shouldn't be s'prised he'd gone off to de norf to get married, and was to bring home a young wife to we dem!"

      "Tut! tut! tut! such talk! That will never do!" exclaimed the deeply shocked Mrs. Condiment.

      "Werry well! All I say is, 'Dem as libs longest will see most!'" said Wool, shaking his white head. After which undeniable apothegm the conversation came to a stand.

      Meanwhile, Old Hurricane pursued his journey—a lumbering, old-fashioned stage-coach ride—across the mountains, creeping at a snail's crawl up one side of the precipice and clattering thunderously down the other at a headlong speed that pitched the back-seat passengers into the bosoms of the front ones and threatened even to cast the coach over the heads of the horses. Three days and nights of such rugged riding brought the traveler to Washington City, where he rested one night and then took the cars for New York. He rested another night in Philadelphia, resumed his journey by the first train in the morning and reached New York about noon.

      The crowd, the noise, the hurry and confusion at the wharf almost drove this irascible old gentleman mad.

      "No, confound you!"

      "I'll see your neck stretched first, you villain!"

      "Out of my way, or I'll break your head, sirrah!" were some of his responses to the solicitous attentions of cabmen and porters. At length, taking up his heavy carpet-bag in both hands, Old Hurricane began to lay about him, with such effect that he speedily cleared a passage for himself through the crowd. Then addressing a cabman who had not offended by speaking first, he said:

      "Here, sir! Here are my checks! Go get my luggage and take it to the Astor House. Hand the clerk this card, and tell him I want a good room, well warmed. I shall take a walk around the city before going. And, hark ye! If one of my trunks is missing I'll have you hanged, you rogue!"

      "Breach of trust isn't a hanging matter in New York, your honor," laughed the cabman, as he touched his hat and hurried off toward the crowd collected around the baggage car.

      Old Hurricane made a step or two as if he would have pursued and punished the flippancy of the man, but finally thought better of it, picked up his portmanteau and walked up the street slowly, with frequent pauses and bewildered looks, as though he had forgotten his directions or lost his way, and yet hesitated to inquire of any one for the obscure little alley in which he had been told to look for his treasure.

CHAPTER IV.

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CAPITOLA.

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      Her sex a page's dress belied,

       Obscured her charms but could not hide.

      —Scott.

      "Please, sir, do you want your carpet-bag carried?" asked a voice near.

      Old Hurricane looked around him with a puzzled air, for he thought that a young girl had made this offer, so soft and clear were the notes of the voice that spoke.

      "It was I, sir! Here I am, at yours and everybody's service, sir!" said the same voice.

      And turning, Old Hurricane saw sitting astride a pile of boxes at the corner store, a very ragged lad some thirteen years of age.

      "Good gracious!" thought Old Hurricane, as he gazed upon the boy, "this must be crown prince and heir apparent to the 'king of shreds and patches!'"

      "Well, old gent! you'll know me next time, that's certain," said the lad, returning the look with interest.

      It is probable Old Hurricane did not hear this irreverent speech, for he continued to gaze with pity and dismay upon the ragamuffin before him. He was a handsome boy, too, notwithstanding the deplorable state of his wardrobe. Thick, clustering curls of jet-black hair fell in tangled disorder around a forehead broad, white and smooth as that of a girl; slender and quaintly arched black eyebrows played above a pair of mischievous, dark-gray eyes that sparkled beneath the shade of long, thick, black lashes; a little turned-up nose, and red, pouting lips completed the character of a countenance full of fun, frolic, spirit and courage.

      "Well, governor, if you've looked long enough, maybe you'll take me into service," said the lad, winking to a group of his fellow-newsboys that had gathered at the corner.

      "Dear! dear! dear! he looks as if he had never in his life seen soap and water or a suit of whole clothes!" ejaculated the old gentleman, adding, kindly: "Yes, I reckon I will give you the job, my son!"

      "His son! Oh, crikey! do you hear that, fellows? His son? Oh, Lor'! my governor's turned up at last. I'm his son! oh, gemini! But what did I tell you! I always had a sort of impression that I must have had a father in some former period of my life; and, behold, here he is! Who knows but I might have had a mother also? But that isn't likely. Still, I'll ask him. How's the old woman, sir?" said the newsboy, jumping off the boxes and taking the carpet-bag in his hand.

      "What are you talking about, you infatuated tatterdemalion? Come along! If it weren't for pity I'd have you put in the pillory!" exclaimed Old Hurricane, shaking his cane at the offender.

      "Thanky, sir! I've not had a pillow under my head for a long time."

      "Silence, ragamuffin!"

      "Just so, sir! 'a dumb devil is better than a talking one!'" answered the lad, demurely following his employer.

      They went on some distance, Old Hurricane diligently reading the names of the streets at the corners. Presently he stopped again, bewildered, and after gazing around himself for a few minutes, said:

      "Boy!"

      "Yes, sir!"

      "Do you know such a place as Rag Alley in Manillo Street?"

      "Rag Alley, sir?"

      "Yes; a sort of narrow, dark, musty place, with a row of old, tumble-down tenements each side, where poor wretches live all huddled up together, fifty in a house, eh? I was told I couldn't drive up it in a carriage, so I had to walk. Do you know such a place?"

      "Do I know such a place! Do I know Rag Alley? Oh, my eye! Oh, he! he! he! he!"

      "What are you laughing at now, you miscellaneous assortment of variegated pieces?"

      "Oh! oh, dear! I was laughing to think how well I knew Rag Alley!"

      "Humph! you do look as if you were born and bred there."

      "But, sir, I wasn't!"

      "Humph! How did you get into life, then?"

      "I don't know, governor, unless I was raked up from the gutter by some old woman in the rag-picking line!" said the newsboy, demurely.

      "Humph. I think that quite likely! But now, do you say that you know where that alley is?"

      "Oh, don't set me off again! Oh, he! he! he! Yes, sir, I know."

      "Well, then, show me the way and don't be a fool!"

      "I'd scorn to be it, sir. This is the way!" said the lad, taking the lead.

      They walked on several squares, and then the boy stopped, and pointing down a cross-street, said:

      "There,