“Thank you, sir,” replied Bobby, bashfully, “I have been to dinner",—­referring to the luncheon he had eaten at Brighton.

“But you must go to the house with me.”

“I should be very glad to do so, sir, but I came on business.  I will stay here with Mr. Timmins till you come back.”

The truth is, he had heard something about the fine houses of the city, and how stylish the people were, and he had some misgivings about venturing into such a strange and untried scene as the parlor of a Boston merchant.

“Indeed, you must come with me.  Ellen would never forgive you or me, if you do not come.”

“I would rather rest here till you return,” replied Bobby, still willing to escape the fine house and the fine folks.  “I walked from Riverdale, sir, and I am rather tired.”

“Walked!” exclaimed Mr. Bayard.  “Had you no money?”

“Yes, sir, enough to pay my passage; but Dr. Franklin says that ’a penny saved is a penny earned,’ and I thought I would try it.  I shall get rested by the time you return.”

“But you must go with me.  Timmins, go and get a carriage.”

Timmins obeyed, and before Mr. Bayard had finished asking Bobby how all the people in Riverdale were, the carriage was at the door.

There was no backing out now, and our hero was obliged to get into the vehicle, though it seemed altogether too fine for a poor boy like him.  Mr. Bayard and Mr. Butler (whom the former had invited to dine with him) seated themselves beside him, and the driver was directed to set them down at No. ——­ Chestnut Street, where they soon arrived.

Though my readers would, no doubt, be very much amused to learn how carefully Bobby trod the velvet carpets, how he stared with wonder at the drapery curtains, at the tall mirrors, the elegant chandeliers, and the fantastically shaped chairs and tables that adorned Mr. Bayard’s parlor, the length of our story does not permit us to pause over these trivial matters.

When Ellen Bayard was informed that her little deliverer was in the house, she rushed into the parlor like a hoiden school girl, grasped both his hands, kissed both his rosy cheeks, and behaved just as though she had never been to a boarding school in her life.

She had thought a great deal about Bobby since that eventful day, and the more she thought of him, the more she liked him.  Her admiration of him was not of that silly, sentimental character which moon-struck young ladies cherish towards those immaculate young men who have saved them from drowning in a horse pond, pulled them back just as they were tumbling over a precipice two thousand five hundred feet high, or rescued them from a house seven stories high, bearing them down a ladder seventy-five odd feet long.  The fact was, Bobby was a boy of thirteen and there was no chance for much sentiment; so the young lady’s regard was real, earnest, and lifelike.

Ellen said a great many very handsome things; but I am sure she never thought of such a thing as that he would run away with her, in case her papa was unneccessarily obstinate.  She was very glad to see him, and I have no doubt she wished Bobby might be her brother, it would be so glorious to have such a noble little fellow always with her.