uncomfortable office, with no fire. He himself took a seat
deliberately at a desk, whence he could watch Ida, and began to
read. As he did so, his face remained unmoved, but he looked away
occasionally, as if to reflect.

"What's your name?" he asked, when he had finished, beginning, at
the same time, to tear the letter into very small pieces, which he
threw into a waste-paper basket.

"Ida, sir,--Ida Starr."

"Starr, eh?" He looked at her very keenly, and, still looking, and
still tearing up the letter, went on in a hard, unmodulated voice.
"Well, Ida Starr, it seems your mother wants to put you in the way
of earning your living." The child looked up in fear and
astonishment. "You can carry a message? You'll say to your mother
that I'll undertake to do what I can for you, on one condition, and
that is that she puts you in my hands and never sees you again."

"Oh, I can't leave mother!" burst from the child's lips
involuntarily, her horror overcoming her fear of the speaker.

"I didn't ask you if you could," remarked Mr. Woodstock, with
something like a sneer, tapping the desk with the fingers of his
right hand. "I asked whether you could carry a message. Can you, or
not?"

"Yes, I can," stammered Ida.

"Then take _that_ message, and tell your mother it's all I've got to