"Go and sell all the papers you can, and then come back here."
"Yes, sir," with a grateful glance at Bertie.
The cars, however, had run into the depot, and the passengers were beginning to alight, before they saw anything more of the newsboy. Bertie was begging his father to wait a little longer, when some one touched his arm; and there was the boy struggling up from behind.
"I've sold 'em all," he began, eagerly.
"Show me where your mother lives," Mr. Curtis said, when they stepped to the platform.
"Yes, sir."
These were all the words spoken, but a beautiful ray of gratitude shot from the poor boy's eyes.
