Loammi Little, for this was the name of the red-haired boy, regarded Scott with curiosity mingled¹ with surprise.

"What is your name?" he asked, abruptly².

"Scott Walton."

"I never heard of you, though I have heard pa say that a cousin of his married a man named Walton. Where is your father?"

"He is dead," answered Scott, sadly. "He died on the voyage over."

"Humph!" said Loammi, in a tone far from sympathetic. "I suppose you are poor."

"I am not rich," replied Scott, coldly.

He began to resent the unfeeling questions with which his cousin was plying³ him.

"If you have come over here to live on pa, I don't think he will like it."

"I don't want to live on anyone," said Scott, his[Pg 46] cheek flushing with anger. "I am ready to earn my own living."

"That's the way pa did. He came over here a poor boy, or rather a poor young man."

"I respect him the more for it."

"All the same I would rather begin life with a little money," said Loammi.

"I have a little money," rejoined Scott, with a half smile.

"How much?"

"I would rather wait and tell your father my circumstances."

"Oh, well, if you don't like to tell. Pa'll tell me all about it."

"That is as he chooses—but I would rather tell him first."

"How old are you?" asked Loammi, after a pause.

"Sixteen."

"So am I."

"Your father has a store on Eighth Avenue?"

"Yes; have you been in it?"

"Not yet. I only arrived in New York yesterday."

"Where are you living?"

"In a hotel on the Bowery."

[Pg 47]

"That isn't a fashionable street."

"So I judge; but I can't afford to board on a fashionable street."

"No, I suppose not. You are pretty well dressed, though."

"My father bought me this suit in London before we started for America. Are you working in your father's store?"

"No, I am attending school. I am not a poor boy, and don't have to work. Did you work any before you left the old country?"

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