Very happy he felt, as with his basket upon his arm, he knocked at the basement door of the handsome house where he had often sold his little wares, and inquired of the girl who opened the door, if he could see the young lady.
“Oh, you are Miss Ellen’s little match boy,” was the reply. “Wait a moment, and I will call her.”
Just then the door of the breakfast room opened, and Miss Ellen herself appeared.
“Have you brought them so soon?” she exclaimed, joyfully, as Ernest eagerly displayed his treasures. “Oh, they are very pretty! Come with me, and I will show them to papa. He has finished his breakfast, and is reading the morning paper. Come right along. Do not be afraid.”
Ernest took off his hat, and followed his little conductress into the front basement. A pleasant-looking gentleman sat in an arm-chair, with a newspaper in his hand.
“Here is the little match boy, papa,” said Ellen, as they entered. “He has brought the cases which you wished for. Look! are they not pretty?”
“Very pretty, my daughter, and very neatly made. What is your name, my little lad?”
But Ernest made no reply. He was looking intently and eagerly at the gentleman, and after a moment’s pause, exclaimed,
“It must be the very one! I am so glad!”
“Glad of what, my little fellow?” asked the gentleman, smiling.