As they left the station the other young lady passenger who had listened eagerly to the conversation asked in a tone of almost painful excitement, "Is that the daughter of Robert Ferguson?"
"Yes, do you know him?" asked Fred in surprise.
"To my sorrow. When my poor father died Mr. Ferguson was appointed executor and trustee of his estate. It was not large, but we supposed it would amount to ten thousand dollars, and perhaps more. Last week my mother received a letter from him stating that he had satisfied all claims against the estate, and that only seventy-five dollars was left. This leaves us well-nigh penniless."
"Is it possible? Do you suspect that any fraud has been practised upon you?"
"My mother feels sure of it, but what can we do? We are poor, and the poor are always friendless," continued the girl bitterly.
"Have you come to New York to see Mr. Ferguson?"
"Yes; my mother wishes me to ask full particulars, and to appeal to him to do us justice. I fear it will be of no avail, but it is the only thing that we can do."
"Pardon me," said Fred, "but we had better be getting on board the ferry-boat, or we shall have to wait till the next."
"Thank you! I hardly know what I am doing."
Fred accompanied the young lady to the ladies' cabin and sat down beside her.