In front of these children sat a man of middle age and a boy of about twelve years.  They seemed to belong to the honorable order of working men.  Their clothing was old, worn and travel-stained.  They had been picked up only at the last past station, and looked as if they had tramped a long way—­weary and dejected.  Each wore on his battered hat a little wisp of a dusty black crape band.  This was a circumstance which much interested the little girl, Corona, who had a longer memory than her baby brother, and had not yet done grieving after her father and her mother, and she wanted to speak to the poor boy, and to tell him how very sorry she was for him, but was much too timid for such a venture.  Neither the boy nor the man looked behind them, and so the children never saw their faces during the ride to North End.  Both parties got out at the station.  The Rockhold carriage was waiting for Fabian and his charges.  Nothing was waiting for the tramp and his son.  Mr. Fabian looked at them, and took in the whole situation.  He put his nephew and niece into the carriage, told the coachman to wait for him, and then went up to the tramps.

“Looking for work?” he said, addressing the elder.

“Yes, sir,” replied the latter, touching his old hat.  “I have come a long way to look for it, and I am bound now for Rockharrt & Sons’ Locomotive Works.  Could you be so kind as to direct me where to find them?”

“About three miles down this side of the river.  You cannot miss them if you follow this road.  Stay—­I am one of the firm.  We have rather more men than we want just now, but I will give you a line to our manager, and he will find a place for you, and the boy, also,” said plausible, good-natured, lying, dishonest Fabian Rockharrt, as he drew a card from his pocket and just wrote above his name: 

“Take the bearer and his boy on.”

Then on the opposite side of the card he wrote the superscription:  “Timothy Ryland, Manager North End Foundries.”

He gave this to the tramp, who touched his hat again, and led off his boy for their long walk to the works.

Fabian Rockharrt, with his nephew and niece, reached Rockland two hours later.

Aaron Rockharrt and his younger son, Clarence, were absent, at the works; but little Mrs. Rockharrt was at home.

Little Cora became the constant companion of the grandmother, who found her well advanced in learning for a child of seven years.  She could read, write a little, and do easy sums in the first four simple rules of arithmetic.

A school room was fitted up on the first floor back of the Rockhold mansion.  A nursery governess was found by advertisement.

She was a young and beautiful girl of the wax doll order of beauty, and of not more than sixteen years of age.  In person she was tall, slim and fair, with red cheeks, blue eyes and yellow hair.  Her very name, as well as her presence, was full of the aromas of Araby the Blest.  It was Rose Flowers.