“My employer, Mr. Crawford, sends you this,” and Andy displayed the bill.

“It is a godsend.  It will enable me to pay my rent, due on Saturday, and give me three dollars over.”

“But that is not all.  I have procured you a situation as typewriter in a lawyer’s office.  You will have to be on hand to-morrow morning a little before ten.  The office is Mr. Gardner’s, at 132 Nassau Street.”

“I can hardly believe in my good fortune.  I will be there.”

“Can you leave the children?”

“I will ask my neighbor, Mrs. Parker, to look after them.  What a good young man you are!” she exclaimed, gratefully.

“Not young man—­boy,” corrected Andy, with a smile.

“Won’t you stay and take a cup of tea?”

“Thank you, Mrs. Carter, but I have an evening engagement.  Oh, by the way, I forgot to say that Mr. Gardner will pay you ten dollars a week.”

“I shall feel rich.  I shall no longer be worried by thoughts of starvation.”

“Some time you might consult Mr. Gardner about your brother-in-law’s withholding your share of the estate.  He will be able to advise you.”

Andy felt a warm glow in his heart at the thought of the happiness he had been instrumental in bringing to the poor family.  He had learned the great lesson that some never learn, that there is nothing so satisfactory as helping others.  We should have a much better world if that was generally understood.

The next day Andy received a letter from his stanch friend, Valentine Burns.  He read it eagerly, for it brought him some home news, and in spite of his success he had not forgotten Arden and his many friends there.

This was the letter: 

“DEAR ANDY:  How long it seems since I saw you!  You know that you were my most intimate friend, and of course I miss you very much.  To be sure, there is Conrad, who seems willing to bestow his company upon me, as my father happens to be pretty well off, but I look upon Conrad as a snob, and don’t care much about him.  When we met yesterday, he inquired after you.

    “‘What’s your friend, Andy Grant, doing in the city?’

    “‘He is in a real estate office,’ I replied.

    “‘Humph! how much does he get paid?’

    “‘Five dollars.’

    “’That is probably more than he earns, but it isn’t much to live
    upon.’

    “I didn’t care to tell him that you had another income, but said: 
    ‘Don’t you think you could live on it?’

    “‘I couldn’t live on ten dollars a week,’ said Conrad, loftily. 
    ‘But, then, I haven’t been accustomed to live like Andy Grant.’

    “It must be pleasant to you to know that Conrad feels so much
    interest in your welfare.