after supper ben sauntered slowly up the street. it was a relief to him after his confinement during the day, and there was always a chance to find something to do. this was desirable, for now that deacon sawyer's woodpile was disposed of, ben had no work engaged.

ben sauntered along, as i have said, until he found himself in front of the milltown hotel.

it was the only hotel in the town, and, though not large, was able to accommodate all who had occasion to visit the town and were not otherwise provided.

"i wonder if mr. brockton"—this was the landlord's name—"hasn't got something for me to do," thought ben.

as this thought occurred to him, he entered by the open door, and stepped into the office.

mr. brockton was not in, but, in an armchair at a window, ben recognized mr. manning, the same gentleman whom he had seen two hours before at deacon sawyer's.

the recognition was mutual. mr. manning removed his cigar from his lips and said, with a smile:

"your name is benjamin, isn't it?"

"yes sir."

"have you come to spend some of the money you received from my friend, the deacon?"

"no, sir. it is all the money i have in the world, and i must take good care of it."

"wages don't seem to be very high in milltown," remarked mr. manning pleasantly, and he smiled again.

"not for sawing and splitting wood, sir. they pay very well in the factory.

"were you ever employed in the factory?"

"yes, sir."

"how did you happen to lose your place?" inquired mr. manning searchingly.

"it was the dull times, sir. they discharged quite a number, and as i was one of the latest on, of course i was among the first to go."

"you don't complain of that, do you?"

"no, sir; but at the same time, it was unlucky for me."

"still, it wasn't as bad as if you were a man with a family to support."

"i have a family to support, sir."

"you have?" repeated mr. manning, a little surprised. "you are rather young—to have a family," he added, with a smile.

ben laughed.

"i am not married yet, if that's what you mean," he said; "but i have an aunt and cousin to take care of."

"and you find it hard work, eh?"

"yes, sir."

"tell me about it. here sit down next to me, and tell me how you are situated."

mr. manning had a sympathetic tone, which invited confidence. so ben followed his directions, and confided to him all his perplexities.

"we got along well enough," he concluded, "as long as i kept my place at the factory. five dollars a week went a good way with us. besides, my aunt made about two dollars a week sewing.

"is she making that now?"

"no, sir. even that kind of business is getting dull. last week she made a dollar and a quarter."

"that isn't much."

"no, sir. but every little helps."

"you are right there. we must not despise small earnings—such as you made in the deacon's employ."

"i got paid better than you think, sir," said ben. "miss nancy made it up to me."

"did she? i am glad to hear it. she is a good woman. she understands better than her father the proper price of work."

"yes, sir. are you any relative to deacon sawyer?"

"no," said mr. manning, "but i have had a little business transaction with the deacon. he's pretty close in money matters."

"so people say here, sir."

"but i must do him justice, and add that you can rely implicitly upon his word. well, ben, what are your plans?"

"only to find work of any kind, sir."

"how happened you to come to the hotel here?"

"i thought mr. brockton might possibly have something for me to do."

"sawing wood, perhaps?"

"yes, sir; or anything else that is honest."

"you are a good industrious boy," said mr. manning approvingly. "you deserve to succeed."

this approval encouraged ben.

"thank you, sir," he said.

"perhaps i may some time have it in my power to help you."

"i hope you may sir. at any rate, i thank you for mentioning it."

mr. manning paused a moment. he appeared to be in thought. as he remained silent, ben concluded that the interview was at an end.

he rose from his seat, and was about to bid mr. manning good evening, when the latter said: "are you particularly engaged for the next hour, ben?"

"no, sir," ben answered, rather surprised.

"then suppose we take a walk? i am alone here, and would like your company."

"thank you, sir," said our hero, feeling flattered at the value set upon his society by a gentleman from new york; for he had ascertained that mr. manning was a member of a business firm in the great city.

they left the hotel, mr. manning lighting a fresh cigar.

"i won't offer you a cigar, ben," he said, "for i don't think it well for boys of your age to smoke."

"i never smoked in my life," said ben.

"but i presume you know some boys that do."

"oh, yes, plenty of them."

"it is a bad thing for them, impoverishing the blood, and often checking the growth. i am glad you have not contracted the habit. suppose we walk by your house?"

"all right, sir. you won't find it very large or elegant."

"but is it comfortable?"

"oh, yes, sir."

"what kind of woman is your aunt? you may think it an odd question, but i have my reasons for asking."

"she is an excellent woman," said ben. "she has only one fault."

"what is that?"

"she gets discouraged too easily."

"as now, for instance?"

"yes, sir; she predicts that we shall all be in the poor-house inside a month."

"what do you think about it?"

"my motto is, 'wait and hope.'"

"a very good one, but i can give you a better."

"what is that, sir?"

"work and hope."

"oh, i mean that, too. there isn't much use in waiting if you don't work, too."

"i see we agree pretty well on that point."

"that is our house," said ben, pointing out the cottage where his aunt lived.

it was small, but everything about it was neat and attractive.

"how many are there in your family?" asked mr. manning, again.

"my aunt and my little cousin, tony."

"how old is he?"

"seven years old."

"you wonder, perhaps, why i ask so many questions," said mr. manning. "i will tell you. by the death of an intimate friend i have become guardian to a little girl, about five years old. she is at present in the city, but i think she will be better off in the country. now, do you think your aunt would take charge of such a child—for a fair price, of course? it might pay her better than sewing."

"i think she would," said ben; "but would you be satisfied with our humble way of living?"

"i don't wish the child to live on rich food. good bread and butter and plenty of milk are better, in my opinion, than rich meats."

"she could have as much of those as she wanted."

"and your little cousin would be company for her."

"yes, sir; he would like it very much. he feels lonely when i am away."

"then, as to the terms, i think i should be willing to pay seven dollars a week."

"seven dollars a week for a little girl's board!" exclaimed ben, astonished.

"well, not exactly for the board alone. there will be considerable care. i could get her boarded for half that, but her father left considerable property, and i prefer to pay a generous price. do you think she will consent to take the child?"

"yes, sir, and think herself very lucky, too. won't you come in and speak to her about it?"

"no; you may speak to her about it, and i will call in the morning, and settle the details of the arrangement. and now, good night."

"good night, sir.'

"what splendid luck!" thought ben. "aunt jane will hardly believe it. didn't i tell her to 'wait and hope'?"

and he entered the house.