He had gone but a dozen steps from the depot when a plausible stranger of thirty-five years, apparently, stopped him.

“Young man, may I have a word with you?” he asked.

“If you wish.”

“I speak to you, because I judge from your appearance that you have a good, kind heart.”

“I hope you are right, sir.”

“I am very awkwardly placed.  My sister is very sick in Yonkers and has sent for me.  On my way to the depot in a horse car I had my pocket picked, and I have not enough money to get to the bedside of my poor sister.  If you would kindly lend me a quarter—­”

Andy was kind-hearted, and he was not versed in city wiles.  He put his hand in his pocket and drew out a twenty-five-cent silver coin.

“I am glad to help you,” he said, as he passed the coin to the applicant.

“You have a noble heart.  I thank you,” said the stranger, feelingly.

Andy felt pleased to think that he had done the man a favor, but his satisfaction was short-lived.

A stout, pleasant-looking man who had caught sight of the conference addressed him.

“Did you give that man any money?” he asked.

“Yes sir.”

“What did he need it for?”

“His pocket had been picked, and he wanted to go to Yonkers to visit his sick sister.”

His new friend laughed.

“That’s a new story,” he said.  “The man is an arrant fraud.  Your money will be spent for drink.  He has no sick sister.”

This was quite a shock to Andy.  He saw that he had been victimized, and must hereafter be on his guard against plausible strangers.

CHAPTER XIV.

The first day in new York.

By dint of a little inquiry Andy found his way to Mrs. Norris’ boarding house in Clinton Place.  It was a plain three-story-and-basement house of brick and looked thoroughly respectable.

Andy took a general view of it, and thought he should take it.  To his country eyes it looked quite aristocratic.  It was higher than any house in Arden, even Squire Carter’s.

He ascended the steps and rang the bell.

It was answered by a Swedish girl named Eva, a blond girl of the true Scandinavian type.

“Is Mrs. Norris at home?” he asked.

“She is upstairs,” was the reply.

“I should like to see her.”

“Who shall I tell her calls?”

“She won’t know my name.  Tell her it is some one with a letter from Mr. Walter Gale.”

“Won’t you step in?”

She ushered Andy into a small reception room opening from the hall.  It was a very small room, provided with a sofa, one chair and a writing desk.  Just over the sofa hung an engraving of Washington crossing the Delaware.

Andy sat down on the sofa and placed his gripsack in front of him.  There was nothing to occupy his mind, so he sat patiently, wondering what sort of a looking woman the landlady might be.