“Youngster,” said he, “you’re a brave fellow.  You’ve done us a good service to-day.  You’re a pretty cool hand, you are.  I don’t know what these foolish horses would have done with the carriage if it had not been for you.”

“Let me get out,” exclaimed the lady, not yet recovered from her fright.

“I will open the door,” said Paul, observing that the coachman was fully occupied in soothing the horses.

He sprang forward, and opening the door of the carriage assisted the lady to descend.

She breathed quickly.

“I have been very much frightened,” she said; “and I believe I have been in very great danger.  Are you the brave boy who stopped the horses?”

Paul modestly answered in the affirmative.

“And how did you do it?  I was so terrified that I was hardly conscious of what was passing, till the horses stopped.”

Paul modestly related his agency in the matter.

The lady gazed at his flushed face admiringly.

“How could you have so much courage?” she asked.  “You might have been trampled to death under the hoofs of the horses.”

“I didn’t think of that.  I only thought of stopping the horses.”

“You are a brave boy.  I shudder when I think of your danger and mine.  I shall not dare to get into the carriage again this afternoon.”

“Allow me to accompany you home?” said Paul, politely.

“Thank you; I will trouble you to go with me as far as Broadway, and then I can get into an omnibus.”

She turned and addressed some words to the coachman, directing him to drive home as soon as the horses were quieted, adding that she would trust herself to the escort of the young hero, who had rescued her from the late peril.

“You’re a lucky boy,” thought John, the coachman.  “My mistress is one that never does anything by halves.  It won’t be for nothing that you have rescued her this afternoon.”

As they walked along, the lady, by delicate questioning, succeeded in drawing from our hero his hopes and wishes for the future.  Paul, who was of a frank and open nature, found it very natural to tell her all he felt and wished.

“He seems a remarkably fine boy,” thought the lady to herself.  “I should like to do something for him.”

They emerged into Broadway.

“I will detain you a little longer,” said the lady; “and perhaps trouble you with a parcel.”

“I shall be very glad to take it,” said Paul politely.

Appleton’s bookstore was close at hand.  Into this the lady went, followed by her young companion.

A clerk advanced, and inquired her wishes.

“Will you show me some writing-desks?”

“I am going to purchase a writing-desk for a young friend of mine,” she explained to Paul; “as he is a boy, like yourself, perhaps you can guide me in the selection.”

“Certainly,” said Paul, unsuspiciously.