Madge, pleased at this, smiled, and perched herself on the upper step.
Waiting to be assured that I preferred standing, the newcomer then
seated himself on his own travelling-bag, an involuntary sigh of
comfort showing how welcome was this rest.
"Did you come to visit in New York?" at once began the inquisitive
Madge.
"Yes, I--I came to see Mr. Aitken," was the hesitating and dubious
answer.
"And so you'll have to go back home without seeing him?"
"I don't very well see how I can go back," said the boy slowly.
"Oh, then you will visit some one else, or stay at the tavern?" Madge
went on.
"I don't know any one else here," was the reply, "and I can't stay at
the tavern."
"Why, then, what will you do?"
"I don't know--yet," the lad answered, looking the picture of
loneliness.
"Where do you live?" I put in.
"I did live in Philadelphia, but I left there the other day by the
stage-coach, and arrived just now in New York by the boat."
"And why can't you go back there?" I continued.
"Why, because,--I had just money enough left to pay my way to New
York; and even if I should walk back, I've no place there to go back
to, and no one at all--now--" He broke off here, his voice faltering;
and his blue eyes filled with moisture. But he made a swallow, and
checked the tears, and sat gently stroking the head of his kitten.
For a little time none of us spoke, while I stood staring somewhat
abashed at the lad's evident emotion.
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