That look and smile had a strange, a wonderful effect on Tode. Something seemed to spring into life in his heart in that instant. Up to this hour he had never known what love was, for he had never loved any human being, but as he gazed into the pure depths of those blue eyes and saw the baby fingers flutter feebly toward him, his heart went out in love to the child, and he held out his arms to take him.

  Nan hesitated, with a quick glance at Tode’s dirty hands and garments, but he cried imperiously,

  “Give him here. He wants to come to me,” and she allowed him to take the child from her arms. As he felt himself lifted in that strong grasp, Little Brother smiled again, and nestled with a long breath of content against Tode’s dirty jacket.

  “See—he likes me!” cried the boy, his face all aglow with the strange, sweet delight that possessed him. He sat still holding the child, afraid to move lest he disturb his charge, but in a few minutes the baby began to fret.

  “What’s he want?” questioned Tode, anxiously.

  Nan looked distressed. “I’m afraid he’s hungry,” she replied. “Oh dear, what shall I do!”

  She seemed ready to cry herself, but Tode sprang up.

  “You come along,” he exclaimed, briefly, and he started off with the child still in his arms, and Nan followed wonderingly. She shrank back as he pushed open the door of a restaurant, but Tode went in and after a moment’s hesitation, she followed.

  “What’ll he take—some beef?” inquired the boy.

  “Oh no!” cried Nan, hastily, “some bread and milk will be best for him.”

  “All right. Here you—bring us a quart o’ milk an’ a loaf o’ bread,” called Tode, sharply, to a waiter.

  When these were brought he added, “Now fetch on a steak an’ a oyster stew.”

  Then he turned with a puzzled look to Nan. “How does he take it? D’ye pour it down his throat?” he asked.

  “No, no!” cried Nan, hastily, as he seized the bowl of milk. “You must feed it to him with a spoon.”

  “All right!” and utterly regardless of the grinning waiters Tode began to feed the baby, depositing quite as much in his neck as in his mouth, while Nan looked on, longing to take the matter into her own hands, but afraid to interfere. Suddenly Tode glanced at her.

  “Why don’t ye eat?” he said, with a gesture toward the food on the table. The girl coloured and drew back.

  “Oh I can’t,” she exclaimed, hastily, “I ain’t—I don’t want anything.”

  “Ain’t ye hungry?” demanded Tode in a masterful tone.

  “N—not much,” stammered Nan, but the boy saw a hungry gleam in her eyes as she glanced at the food.

  “Y’are, too! Now you jest put that out o’ sight in a hurry!”

  But Nan shook her head. “I’m no beggar,” she said, proudly, “and some time I’m going to pay you for that,” and she pointed to the bowl of bread and milk.

  “Shucks!” exclaimed the boy. “See here! I’ve ordered that stuff an’ I’ll have it to pay for anyhow, so you might’s well eat it. I don’t want it,” and he devoted himself again to the child.

  Nan turned her head resolutely away, but she was so hungry and the food did smell so good that she could not resist it. She tasted the oysters and in three minutes the bowl was empty, and a good bit of the steak had disappeared before she pushed aside her plate.

  “Thank you,” she said, gratefully. “It did taste so good!”

  “Huh!” grunted Tode. This was the first time in his life that anybody had said “thank you” to him.

  He handed the baby over to Nan and, though he had said he was not hungry, finished the steak and a big piece of pie in addition and then the three left the restaurant.

  II. Nan’s New Home

  As they went out, Nan looked anxiously from side to side, fearing to see or be seen by the Leary woman. Tode noticed her troubled look and remarked,

  “Ye needn’t ter fret. I wouldn’t let her touch ye. We might’s well go back to the wharf,” he added.

  So they returned to the corner they had left, and in a little while the baby dropped into a refreshing sleep in his sister’s lap, while Tode sometimes roamed about the wharf, and sometimes lounged against a post and talked with Nan.

  “What is your name?” she asked him, suddenly.

  “Tode Bryan.”

  “Tode? That’s a queer name.”

  “‘Spect that ain’t all of it. There’s some more, but I’ve forgot what ‘tis,” the boy replied, carelessly.

  “And where’s your home, Tode?”

  “Home? Ain’t got none. Never had none—no folks neither.”

  “But where do you live?”

  “Oh, anywheres. When I’m flush, I sleeps at the Newsboys’ Home, an’ when I ain’t, I takes the softest corner I can find in a alley or on a doorstep,” was the indifferent reply.

  Nan looked troubled.

  “But I can’t do that,” she said. “I can’t sleep in the street with Little Brother.”

  “Why not?” questioned Tode, wonderingly.

  “Oh because—girls can’t do like that.”

  “Lots o’ girls do.”

  “But—not nice girls, Tode,” said Nan, wistfully.

  “Well no, I don’t ‘spect they’re nice girls. I don’t know any girls ‘t amount to much,” replied Tode, disdainfully.

  Nan flushed at his tone, as she answered,

  “But what can I do? Where can I go? Seems as if there ought to be some place where girls like me could stay.”

  “That’s so, for a fact,” assented Tode, then he added, thoughtfully, “The’s one feller—mebbe you could stay where he lives. He’s got a mother, I know.”

  “Oh if I only could, Tode! I’d work ever so hard,” said Nan, earnestly.

  “You stay here an’ I’ll see ‘f I can find him,” said the boy. Then he turned back to add suspiciously, “Now don’t ye clear out while I’m gone.”

  Nan looked at him wonderingly.

  “Where would I go?” she questioned, and Tode answered with a laugh,

  “That a fact—ye ain’t got no place to go, have ye?”

  Then he disappeared and Nan waited anxiously for his return. He came back within an hour bringing with him a freckle-faced boy a year or so older than himself.

  “This’s the gal!” he remarked, briefly.

  The newcomer looked doubtfully at Nan.

  “See the little feller,” cried Tode, eagerly. “Ain’t he a daisy? See him laugh,” and he chucked the baby clumsily under the chin.

  The child’s heavy eyes brightened and he smiled back into the friendly, dirty face of the boy.

  The other boy looked at Tode wonderingly. “Didn’t know ‘t you liked kids,” he said, scornfully.

  “So I don’t—but this one’s diff’runt,” replied Tode, promptly. “You ain’t no common kid, be ye, Little Brother?”

  “What’s his name?” questioned the boy.

  “His name is David, but mother always called him Little Brother, and so I do,” answered the girl, in a low tone. “Have you a mother?” she added, with an earnest look at the boy.

  “Got the best mother in this town,” was the prompt reply.

  “Oh, won’t you take me to her, then? Maybe she can tell me what to do,” Nan pleaded.

  “Well, come along, then,” responded the boy, rather grudgingly.

  “You come too, Tode,” said Nan. “‘Cause you know we might meet Mary Leary.”

  “All right. I’ll settle her. Don’t you worry,” and Tode, with a very warlike air marched along at Nan’s right hand.

  “What’s your mother’s name?” questioned Nan, shyly, of the newcomer as the three walked on together.

  “Hunt. I’m Dick Hunt,” was the brief reply. Then Dick turned away from the girl and talked to Tode.

  It was not very far to Dick’s home. It was in one of the better class of tenement houses. The Hunts had three rooms and they were clean and comfortably furnished. Tode looked around admiringly as Dick threw open the door and led the way in. Tode had never been in rooms like these before. Nan—after one quick glance about the place—looked earnestly and longingly into Mrs. Hunt’s kind motherly face. Dick wasted no words.

  “Mother,” he said, “this girl wants to stay here.”

  Mrs. Hunt was making paper bags. Her busy fingers did not stop for a moment, but she cast a quick, keen glance at Nan and Tode.

  “What do you mean, Dick?” she said.

  “Oh, Mrs. Hunt, if you only would let us stay here till I can find a place to work, I’d be so thankful. We’ll have to stay in the street tonight—Little Brother and I—if you don’t,” urged Nan, eagerly.

  Mrs. Hunt’s kind heart was touched by the girl’s pleading tone. She had girls of her own and she thought, “What if my Nellie had to spend the night in the street,” but she said only:

  “Sit down, my dear, and tell me all about it.”

  The kind tone and those two words “my dear,” were almost too much for poor anxious Nan. Her eyes filled with tears and her voice was not quite steady as she told again her sorrowful little story, and when it was ended the mother’s eyes too were dim.

  “Give me that baby,” she exclaimed, forgetting her work for the moment, and she took the little fellow tenderly in her arms. “You poor child,” she added, to Nan, “of course you can stay here tonight. It’s a poor enough place an’ we’re as pinched as we can be, but we’ll manage somehow to squeeze out a bite and a corner for you for a day or two anyway.”

  Tode’s face expressed his satisfaction as he turned to depart. Dick too looked pleased.

  “Didn’t I tell ye I’d got the best mother in this town?” he said, proudly, as he followed Tode down the stairs.

  “Yes you did, an’ ‘twarn’t no lie neither,” assented Tode, emphatically; “but, see here, you can tell your mother that I’m agoin’ to pay for that little feller’s bread an’ milk.”

  Dick looked at him curiously.

  “You goin’ to work again?” he questioned.

  “‘Course I am.”

  “Somebody’s got your beat.”

  “Who?” Tode stopped short in angry surprise as he asked the question.

  “That big red-headed feller that they call Carrots.”

  “Well—Carrots’ll find himself knocked out o’ business,” declared Tode, fiercely.

  When the newsboys assembled at the newspaper office a little later, Dick speedily reported Tode’s remark, and soon all eyes were on the alert to see what would happen. Tode was greeted rather coldly and indifferently, but that did not trouble him. He bought his papers and set off for his usual beat. Scenting a fight a good many of the boys followed. As Dick had said, Tode found the big fellow on the ground, lustily crying his papers. Tode marched straight up to him.

  “See here, Carrots, this’s my beat. You clear out—d’ye hear?” he shouted.

  The big fellow leered at him scornfully, and without a word in response, went on calling his papers.

  Down on the ground went Tode’s stock in trade, and he fell upon Carrots like a small cyclone fighting with teeth, nails, fists and heels, striking in recklessly with never a thought of fear.

  Forgetful of possible customers, the boys quickly formed a ring, and yelled and hooted at the antagonists, cheering first one and then the other. But the contest was an unequal one. The red-headed boy was the bigger and stronger of the two and plucky as Tode was, he would have been severely treated had not the affair been ended by the appearance of a policeman who speedily separated the combatants.

  “What’s all this row about?” he demanded, sharply, as he looked from Tode’s bleeding face to the big fellow’s bruised eye.

  “He took my beat. I’ve sold papers here for three years,” cried Tode, angrily.

  “What you got to say?” The policeman turned to the other.

  “He give it up. He ain’t sold a paper here for a week past,” growled Carrots.

  “Whose beat is it?” The man turned to the other boys as he asked the question.

  “Reckon it’s Tode’s.”

  “He’s o’ny been layin’ off fer a spell.”

  “It’s Tode’s sure ‘nough.”

  So they answered, and the officer turned again to Carrots.

  “You’re a bigger feller ‘n he is. You let him alone an’ go find a new beat for yourself, an’ see ‘t I don’t catch either of ye fightin’ in the streets again, or I’ll put ye where ye’ll get another kind of a beat if ye don’t walk straight. Now scatter—all of ye!”

  The “fun” was over and the boys needed no second bidding. They scattered in all directions and the next moment, Tode’s shrill voice rang out triumphantly, while his rival stalked gloomily off, meditating dire vengeance in the near future.

  Meantime, after Tode and Dick had departed, Nan had spoken a few grateful words to Mrs. Hunt, and then laying the baby on the lounge, she said, earnestly,

  “Please show me just how you make those bags. I’m sure I can do it.”

  It was simple work and it did not take her many minutes to master the details. Her quick eyes and deft fingers soon enabled her to do the work fully as well and as rapidly as Mrs. Hunt could do it.

  “Well, I never! You certainly are a quick one,” exclaimed the good woman as she gave up her seat to the girl. “Now if you can finish that job for me, I can get a little sewing done before dark.”

  “Oh yes, I can finish this easily,” exclaimed Nan, delighted that there was something that she could do in return for the kindness shown her.

  By and by, Jimmy, Nellie, and the younger children came in from school, staring in amazement at the two strangers who seemed so much at home there. Nan made friends with them at once, but she dreaded the arrival of the father.

  “What if he shouldn’t want us to stay?” she thought, anxiously, as she heard a heavy step on the stairs, and Nellie called out,

  “Here comes father!”

  There was a general rush of the children as he opened the door and he came into the room with boys and girls swarming over him. Nan’s fears departed at the first sight of his honest, kindly face, and his cheery greeting to her.

  “Wal’ now, this is nice,” he said, heartily, after hearing his wife’s brief explanation. “Never can have too many little gals ‘round to suit me, an’ as fer this young man,” he lifted Little Brother gently as he spoke, “he fits into this fam’ly jest like a book. Ted here’s gettin’ most too much of a man to be our baby any longer.”

  Ted’s round face had lengthened as his father took up the baby, but it brightened at these words, and he straightened himself and slipped his hands into the pockets of the very short trousers he was wearing.

  “I’ll be a big man pretty soon,” he remarked, and his father patted his head tenderly as he answered,

  “So you will, sonny, so you will, an’ the more you help other folks the faster you’ll grow.”

  That was a happy evening for Nan. As she sat at the supper-table at “father’s” right hand the only shadow on her satisfaction was the fear that she might not be allowed to remain in this friendly household. But somehow, even that thought could not cast a very dark shadow on her heart when she looked up into the sunshine of Father Hunt’s plain face, or met the motherly smile of his good wife. She lent a helping hand whenever she saw an opportunity to do so, and the table was cleared, and the dishes washed so quickly that Mr. Hunt remarked to his wife,

  “Look here, now, mother, why can’t you an’ me go somewheres this evening? You ain’t been out with me for more’n a year, an’ I feel’s if I’d like a bit of an outin’ tonight.”

  Mrs. Hunt looked up doubtfully, but Nan spoke up quickly,

  “Do go, Mrs. Hunt. I’ll take care of the children and be glad to.”

  “That’s right! That’s right!” exclaimed Mr. Hunt. “‘Course ye will, an’ I ‘spect you’ll make ‘em have such a fine time that they’ll be sorry when we get back.”

  Ted put his finger in his mouth and gloom gathered on his round face at this suggestion, but it vanished as Nan said,

  “Teddy, I can cut fine soldiers out of paper, and animals too. After your father and mother go I’ll cut some for you.”

  Teddy’s face brightened at this promise, and he saw the door close behind his mother without shedding a single tear.

  Nan put Little Brother to bed and then all the children gathered about the table and Nan drew men and animals on brown paper and cut them out, to the great delight of the children. Teddy especially was so interested that once Nellie remarked, “You needn’t get quite into Nan’s mouth, Ted.”

  Nan laughed. “If he only won’t get his fingers cut instead of the paper,” she said.

  “There! I’ve got a whole fun’ral of horses,” remarked Ted, in a tone of great satisfaction, as he ranged a long string of the figures two and two on the table.

  “Look out, Ted, you’ll knock over the lamp!” cried Jimmy, hastily.

  The warning came too late. Even as the words were uttered, the chair on which Ted was standing slipped from under him, and as he struck out wildly to save himself from falling he hit the lamp and knocked it over on the table. The chimney rolled to the floor with a crash, and the burning oil spread over the table licking up Ted’s horses and the scattered bits of paper as it went. Then a piece of the burning paper blew against Nellie’s apron and the next instant that was blazing, and Nellie screaming with fright, while the other children ran crying into the inner room—all but Ted. He—petrified with terror—stood still with mouth and eyes wide open, gazing at the fiery stream rolling over the table.

  It all happened in two or three seconds, but Nan did not lose her head. She jerked off Nellie’s apron without regard to fastenings, and crammed it into the coalhod, then snatching up her old shawl which was lying on the lounge, she threw it over the burning lamp and gathered it closely over lamp, paper and all, so smothering the flames. In two minutes the danger was over, Nan had lighted another lamp that Nellie brought her, and the frightened children came creeping slowly back to the table.

  Teddy did not care for paper men or animals any more that night. He was ready to go to bed, and Nellie undressed him and put him there, but the others sat up until the father and mother came home, all eager to tell the story of their danger and of Nan’s bravery. The mother’s eyes filled with tears as she put her arms about as many of the children as she could gather into them and looked at Nan in silent gratitude, while the father laid his hand kindly on the girl’s brown hair as he said, gravely,