Mrs. Allen sighed. She began to think she had undertaken a great task in inviting these children to visit her. Instead of a pleasure, they had proved, thus far, a weariness—always excepting Prudy. She, dear, self-forgetting little girl, could not fail to be a comfort wherever she went.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE PUMPKIN HOOD.
To the "Eagle" office they went—obstinate Horace, patient Annt Madge, and between them the "blue-bottle Fly."
"I do feel right sorry, auntie," said Horace, a sudden sense of shame coming over him; "but I'm so sure I dropped the money, you know; or I wouldn't drag you up this hill when you're so tired."
A sharp answer rose to Mrs. Allen's lips, but she held it back.
"Only a boy! In a fair way to learn a useful lesson, too. Let me keep my temper! If I scold, I spoil the whole."
They entered the office, and left with the editor this advertisement:—
"Lost.—Between Prospect Park and Fulton Ferry, a porte-monnaie, marked 'Horace S. Clifford,' containing thirty-five dollars. The finder will be suitably rewarded by leaving the same at No. ——, Cor. Fifth Ave. and —— Street."