the bell. There came to the door a big, light-haired, gruff man, who had the air of a steward, and who demanded awkwardly, with a foreign accent:—
“What do you want?”
The boy mentioned the name of his patron.
“The master has gone away,” replied the steward; “he set out yesterday afternoon for Buenos Ayres, with his whole family.”
The boy was speechless a moment. Then he stammered, “But I—I have no one here! I am alone!” and he offered the card.
The steward took it, read it, and said surlily: “I don't know what to do for you. I'll give it to him when he returns a month hence.”
“But I, I am alone; I am in need!” exclaimed the lad, in a supplicating voice.
“Eh? come now,” said the other; “just as though there were not a plenty of your sort from your country in Rosario! Be off, and do your begging in Italy!” And he slammed the door in his face.
The boy stood there as though he had been turned to stone.
Then he picked up his bag again slowly, and went out, his heart torn with anguish, his mind in a whirl, assailed all at once by a thousand anxious thoughts. What was to be done? Where was he to go? From Rosario, to Cordova was a day's journey, by rail. He had only a few lire left. After subtracting what he should be obliged to spend that day, he would have next to nothing left. Where was he to find the money to pay his fare? He could work but how? To whom should he apply for work? Ask alms? Ah,
