long."
"I suppose you were a Freshman?"
"Yes," said Tom, hazarding a guess.
"Don't the Sophomores play all sorts of tricks on the Freshmen?"
"Awful," said Tom, who found it safest to chime in with the remarks of the young lady.
"I had a cousin at Yale College," continued Bessie. "When he was a Freshman, the Sophomores broke into his room one night, blindfolded him, and carried him off somewhere. Then they made him smoke a pipe, which made him awful sick, and poured a pail of water over his head. Did they ever do such things to you?"
"No, they wouldn't dare to," said our hero.
"You couldn't help yourself."
"Yes, I could; I'd put a head on them."
"I don't know what Miss Wiggins would say if she should hear you talk. She'd have a fit."
"What did I say?" he asked, innocently.
"You said you'd put a head on them."
"So I would."
"Only it is a very inelegant expression, as Miss Wiggins says."
"If you don't like it, I won't say it any more."
"Oh! I don't care," said Bessie, laughing. "You needn't be afraid I'll have a fit. I ain't such a model of propriety as that. Perhaps I shall be some time, when I get to be a stiff old maid like Priscilla Wiggins."
"You won't be that."
"How do you know?" said Bessie, saucily.
"You don't look like it."
"Don't I? Perhaps nobody will marry me," she said, demurely.
"If nobody else will, send for me!" said Tom, blushing immediately at his unexpected boldness.
"Am I to regard that as a proposal?" asked Bessie, her eyes sparkling with fun.
"Yes, if you want to," said Tom, manfully.
"I'm sure I'm very much obliged," said the young lady. "I won't forget it, and, if nobody else will have me, I'll send for you."
"She's a trump," he thought, but fortunately didn't make use of a word which would have been highly objectionable to Miss Wiggins.
CHAPTER X.
TOM ARRIVES IN CINCINNATI
"You haven't told me your name yet," said Bessie, after a while.
"Gilbert Grey," said Tom.
The name sounded strange to himself, for he had always been called Tom; but his street-life was over. He had entered upon a new career, and it was fitting that he should resume the name to which he had a rightful claim.
"That's a good name," said Bessie, approvingly. "Would you like to know mine?"
"I know it already – it's Bessie Benton."
"Oh, you heard me use it. Do you like it?"
"Tip-top."
"That's another of your boy-words."
"Isn't it good?"
"I like it well enough. I'm not Miss Wiggins."
I am not going to inflict on the reader a full account of all that was said on the journey by Bessie and her young protector. They chatted upon a variety of topics, Tom taking care not to be too communicative touching his street experiences. He wanted to stand well with Bessie, and was afraid that she would not be quite so pleased and social with him if she should learn that he had been a knight of the blacking-brush.
It was early evening when the train reached Cincinnati.
"I think papa will be here to meet me," said Bessie, looking out of the car window, as they entered the depot. "Uncle telegraphed him from Buffalo that I would arrive by this train."
Our hero was sorry they were already at their journey's end. He had enjoyed Bessie's company, and he knew that he might never meet her again. Though he knew nothing of etiquette, he did what was proper on the occasion, and assisted Bessie to ascend the steps upon the platform.
Bessie looked around to find a familiar face.
"Oh, there's Cousin Maurice!" she said. "Here, Maurice, here I am."
A boy, somewhat taller than our hero, who no doubt considered himself a young man, came forward, and was about to kiss Bessie, but the latter drew back slightly and frustrated his design by giving him her hand instead.
Maurice colored a little, and looked vexed.
"Where is papa? Didn't he come?" she asked, quickly.
"He was busy, and sent me. Won't I do as well?"
"Of course I am glad to see you, but I hoped papa would be here."
"The carriage is outside; let us hurry," said Maurice, taking her arm.
"Wait a minute," said Bessie, releasing her arm. She walked up to Tom, and, taking his hand cordially, said: "Good-by, Gilbert. I'm ever so much obliged to you for taking care of me. We live at 116 B – street. I hope you will call in a day or two. Papa will be glad to see you, and he will thank you, too."
Tom's face flushed with pleasure.
"Thank you, Miss Bessie," he said. "I'd like to do it all over again."
"You'll be sure to come?"
"Yes, I'll come."
Maurice listened to this conversation with impatient annoyance. He liked his pretty cousin enough to be jealous of any one to whom she seemed attentive, and he thought her altogether too cordial with this strange boy.
"Who's that fellow?" he asked, as they were passing out of the depot.
"I don't know whom you mean."
"The boy you spoke to."
"The young gentleman I spoke to," remarked Bessie, with emphasis, "was Gilbert Grey."
"And who is Gilbert Grey, and how did you become acquainted with him?"
"Uncle Henry put me in his charge," said Bessie. "I've traveled with him all the way from Buffalo."
"A great protector he is!" sneered Maurice. "He isn't old enough to take charge of a kitten."
"A kitten would be more trouble than I was," said Bessie. "She might scratch. I never do that, you know, Cousin Maurice."
"I should think Uncle Henry might have found some older person to put you in charge of."
"I am glad he didn't. Gilbert was real nice."
"You shouldn't call him by his first name; it isn't proper."
"Pray don't talk about what's proper. I heard enough of that from Miss Wiggins. Besides,
