watched the man behind the little window count out five tickets and
put them in a pink envelope.

"One for you, one for your mother, and three for the kids," said his
friend, as Billy buttoned the treasure in the inside pocket of his
ragged coat.

He was so excited that he almost forgot his part of the bargain, but
as the gentleman was turning away he remembered.

"Say, mister, where must I take the kindlin' to?"

"Oh, that's all right; you can sell it to-morrow," answered the
other.

Billy's face fell instantly. "If you don't take the kindlin', I'll
have to give you back the tickets. Ma don't 'low us to take nothin'
that way."

"But I don't need the kindling; haven't any place to put it."

"Ain't you got no home?" asked Billy, incredulously.

"No," answered the man, shortly.

The idea of any one, in any walk of life, not having use for
kindling was a new one to Billy. But he had no time to dwell on it,
for this new complication demanded all his attention.

"Ain't there nobody you could give it to?" he asked.