PAUL PALMER AT HOME.
In a small two-story house, not far from the junction of a side street
with Lake street, lived Mrs. Palmer, Paul's mother.
It was rather shabby-looking externally, being sadly in want of paint,
but Mrs. Palmer's rooms on the second floor were neatly, though plainly
furnished, and scrupulously clean.
There was an outside staircase, so that the second floor was
independent of the first.
Paul ran up stairs, and opened the door, entering at once into the
sitting-room, where his mother and sister were seated.
Mrs. Palmer's face brightened at the sight of Paul. He was always full
of life and gayety, and his coming never failed to cheer her.
"So you are back again, Paul," she said, smiling a welcome.
"Yes, mother, and I am hungry, I can tell you. Is supper most ready?"
"It will be in five minutes," said his mother, folding up her work and
going into the adjoining room. "I have got some dipped toast for you
to-night."
"Just what I like."
"But I delayed putting the toast into the dip till you came. There is
some minced meat."
"In other words, hash," said Paul, laughing.
"I think you will find it good, in spite of the name."
"Oh, I am sure to like it, since it is home-made. At the restaurants I
am a little afraid; I don't know but it may be made of dogs or cats."
"Do they make it of dogs or cats, Paul?" asked his little sister,
curiously.
"I don't know," said Paul; "I won't swear to it. All I know is that
there's a lot of dogs and cats that disappear mysteriously every year
in Chicago."
Meanwhile Mrs. Palmer had been busily completing her arrangements for
supper, and it was ready within the five minutes mentioned.
"Supper's ready, Paul. I haven't made you wait long," she said.
"No, mother; you're always on time, like an express train."
"What sort of a day have you had, Paul? Did you sell much?"
"Yes, more than usual. How much do you think I made?"
"A dollar and a quarter?"
"More than that. A dollar and seventy-five cents."
"That is very good indeed. It would take me a week to make as much as
that by sewing."
"They pay mean wages for sewing, mother. I wouldn't slave at that kind
of work."
"I shouldn't like to depend upon that kind of work altogether, but I
can just as well earn something that way. I don't want you to support
Grace and me in idleness."
"No danger of your being idle, mother. That doesn't come natural to
you. Some time or other I hope to support you as a lady."
"I hope you will be prospered, Paul; but I shall never be willing to
fold my hands and do nothing."
"Then again I don't want always to live in this poor place," pursued
Paul.
"It is comfortable. I feel fortunate in having so good a home."
"It would be easier to find a better one if we could afford to pay more
rent. Of course this will do for the present. What have you been doing
to-day, Grace?"
"I went to school this morning, and I have been studying arithmetic and
geography at home since school was over."
"You will become a famous scholar in time, Grace."
"I never expect to know as much as mother," said Grace.
"I hope you will know a good deal more," said Mrs. Palmer.
"You know ever so much, mother."
"You think so now, because I know more than you; but the time will come
when you will understand better how little your mother knows."
"Didn't you use to keep school, mother?"
"Yes, but school-teachers don't know everything. Well, Paul, what have
you seen to-day? To go to Milwaukee and back would be a great event to
Grace and myself in our quiet course of life."
"I've got used to it, mother. It's all in the day's work. Oh, I mustn't
forget to tell you a lady had her pocket picked on our train to-day."
"Tell me about it, Paul," said Grace, with eager interest.
So Paul told the story, very much as it has already been told in the
last chapter.
"Did the pickpocket really jump off the train when it was going?" asked
Grace, her eyes wide open.
"Yes, Grace."
"Did he get hurt?"
"No; the conductor and I watched from the platform, and saw him turn
two or three somersets, but he got up quickly and made off."
"It was taking a dangerous risk," said Mrs. Palmer.
"Yes; it is more of a risk than I would take for forty-seven dollars."
"Was that the sum taken?"
"Yes."
"Poor young lady! What a loss it will be to her!"
"She happens to be a rich young lady, mother. She didn't mind it any
more than I would if I should lose ten cents, and perhaps not as much."
"Do you think the man will be caught, Paul?"
"I don't know. I suppose he will keep in hiding for awhile. Anyhow, he
got off with the money. I suppose he doesn't feel very friendly to me,
as I was the one who detected him in the theft."
"Does he know that?"
"Oh, yes."
Mrs. Palmer looked rather alarmed.
"Be on your guard against him, Paul. He may do you a mischief sometime."
"I don't doubt he would like to; but I don't believe he will ride on
that railroad again very soon, and I would not recommend him to go
about much in Chicago."
"How do you know the lady was rich, Paul?" asked Grace.
"I know more than that. I know what her name is," said Paul.
"What is it?"
"Grace Dearborn."
"Why, her first name is the same as mine."
"So it is. Don't you think she might send a present to her namesake?"
"She doesn't know anything about me," said the little girl.
"Don't be too sure of that."
"How should she?"
"Because I told her. I can tell you something more. She sent you a
present."
"Really and truly?" asked Grace, in a flutter of excitement.
"Yes, really and truly. Now what do you hope it is?"
"I don't know, I'm sure. I should like a nice doll. I've got a rag
baby, but that isn't as good."
"She didn't send you a doll."
"No; I didn't expect she would; she wouldn't have any with her."
"No; young ladies do not generally carry dolls round with them. Still,
you can buy a doll with what she did give you."
Paul drew from his vest-pocket the small gold piece, and handed it to
his little sister.
"How much is it, Paul?" asked Grace, who wasn't in the habit of seeing
gold coin.
"Two dollars and a half, Gracie."
"Why, that's ever so much money. I can get a nice doll on State street
for half a dollar."
"So you can, and keep the rest of the money for something useful."
"Miss Dearborn was very kind," said Mrs. Palmer. "I suppose she made
the present before she lost her purse."
"Yes. She invited me to bring Grace to call upon her some day. She
lives on Ashland avenue."
"I should like to go, Paul."
"So you shall, Gracie."
Meanwhile all the family had done justice to the supper, which, though
certainly very plain, was palatable.
As they rose from the supper-table, Paul took his hat from a peg, and
said:
"I'll take a little walk, mother."
"In what direction, Paul?"
"I shall go to Randolph street, and perhaps stroll down as far as State
street. It is rather lively that way."
"Very well, Paul. I suppose you won't be out late?"
"Oh, no. I always tell you beforehand when I stay out."
Paul had hardly been gone twenty minutes when an unsteady step was
heard on the staircase outside, and there was a loud knock on the outer
door.
"I'm afraid it's Stephen," said Mrs. Palmer, nervously. "I wish Paul
were at home!"
[Illustration: "You don't seem very glad to see me," said Stephen,
scowling.]