"So you have a guardian?" said Roswell, a little surprised. "What is his name?"
"Mr. Hunter."
"Hunter!" repeated Roswell, hastily. "What is his first name?"
"Richard I believe."
"Dick Hunter!" exclaimed Roswell, scornfully, "Do you mean to say that he has charge of you?"
"Yes," said Mark, firmly, for he perceived the tone in which his friend was referred to, and resented it. Moreover the new expression which came over Roswell's face brought back to his recollection the evening when, for the first time in his life, he had begged in Fulton Market, and been scornfully repulsed by Roswell and his mother. Roswell's face had at first seemed familiar to him, but it was only now that he recognized him. Roswell, on the other hand, was not likely to identify the neatly dressed boy before him with the shivering little beggar of the market. But it recurred to him all at once that Dick had referred to his ward as a match boy.
"You were a match boy?" he said, in the manner of one making a grave accusation.
"Yes, sir."
"Then why didn't you keep on selling matches, and not try to get a place in a respectable store?"