the street. "Dear old Smoke," he said to himself, his mind going back
to the companion of his early struggle--"Dear old Smoke." Then as the
half-starved creature came timidly to his side and looked up at him
with pleading eyes, he remembered his share of the breakfast, still
untouched, in his pocket. "You look like an old friend of mine," he
continued, as he stooped to pat the bony head, "a friend who is never
hungry now--, but you're hungry aren't you?" A low whine answered him.
"Yes, you're hungry all right." And the next moment a wagging tail was
eloquently giving thanks for the rest of the crackers and cheese.

The factories and mills of the city gave forth their early greeting,
while the sun tried in vain to drive away the chilly mist. Men with
dinner buckets on their arms went hurrying along at call of the
whistles, shop-keepers were sweeping, dusting and arranging their
goods, a street-car full of miners passed, with clanging gong; and the
fire department horses, out for their morning exercise, clattered down
the street. Amid the busy scene walked Dick, without work, without
money, without friends, but with a new purpose in his heart that was
more than meat or drink. A new feeling of freedom and power made him
lift his head and move with a firm and steady step.

All that morning he sought for employment, inquiring at the stores and
shops, but receiving little or no encouragement. Toward noon, while
waiting for an opportunity to interview the proprietor of a store, he
picked up a daily paper that was lying on the counter, and turning to
the "want" column, read an advertisement for a man to do general work
about the barn and yard. When he had received the usual answer to his
request for work, he went at once to the address given in the paper.

"Is Mr. Goodrich in?" he asked of the young man who came forward with