he impertinent?"

"You must not feel that way about all tramps," said she.
"Sometimes they are deserving of our charity, and ought to be
helped. There is a great difference in them."

"That may be," I said; "but what of this one? When was he here,
and when did he go?"

"He did not go at all. He is here now."

"Here now!" I cried. "Where is he?"

"Do not call out so loud," said Euphemia, putting her hand on my
arm. "You will waken him. He is asleep."

"Asleep!" said I. "A tramp? Here?"

"Yes. Stop, let me tell you about him. He told me his story, and
it is a sad one. He is a middle-aged man--fifty perhaps--and has
been rich. He was once a broker in Wall street, but lost money by
the failure of various railroads--the Camden and Amboy, for one."

"That hasn't failed," I interrupted.

"Well then it was the Northern Pacific, or some other one of them--
at any rate I know it was either a railroad or a bank,--and he soon
became very poor. He has a son in Cincinnati, who is a successful
merchant, and lives in a fine house, with horses and carriages, and
all that; and this poor man has written to his son, but has never