"I haven't been with her now for two years--hardly at all since father
died. When his business was settled up,--he kept a little hosiery store
on Hanover street,--it was found he hadn't left us anything. We had
lived pretty well, up to that time, and I and my two sisters had been to
school; but then mother had to do something, and her friends got her
places to go out nursing; she's a nurse now. Everybody likes her, and
she has enough to do. We couldn't be with her, of course. She got us
boarded at a good place, but I saw how hard it was going to be for her
to support us, so I said, I'm a boy; I can do something for myself; you
just pay the board for the girls and keep them to school, and I'll go
to work, and maybe help you a little, besides taking care of myself."

"What could you do?" said the little old man.

"That's it; I was only eleven years old; and what could I do? What I
should have liked would have been some nice place where I could do light
work, and stand a chance of learning a good business. But beggars
mustn't be choosers. I couldn't find such a place; and I wasn't going to
be loafing about the streets, so I went to selling newspapers. I've sold
newspapers ever since, and I shall be twelve years old next month."

"You like it?" said the old man.

"I like to get my own living," replied Bert, proudly. "But what I want
is, to learn some trade, or regular business, and settle down and make a
home for my mother. But there's no use talking about that.

"Well I've told you about myself," added Bert; "now suppose _you_ tell
_me_ something?"