arithmetic.

A school room was fitted up on the first floor back of the Rockhold
mansion. A nursery governess was found by advertisement.

She was a young and beautiful girl of the wax doll order of beauty, and
of not more than sixteen years of age. In person she was tall, slim and
fair, with red cheeks, blue eyes and yellow hair. Her very name, as well
as her presence, was full of the aromas of Araby the Blest. It was Rose
Flowers.

Rose smiled and bloomed and beamed on all, but most of all on Mr.
Fabian, who was at that time a very handsome and fascinating man of no
more than thirty, and to do her justice, she brought her young pupils
well on in elementary education.

No more was seen or heard of the tramp and his boy, who had come to seek
work at the foundries. They seemed to have been forgotten even by the
little girl whose sympathies had been touched by their appearance on the
train with their own party.

But early in February a catastrophe occurred which brought them back
most painfully to, her memory. There was an explosion in the foundry,
by which the man was instantly killed.

"Uncle Clarence," asked Cora of that person, "where is the boy belonging
to the poor man that was killed? You know they came in the cars with us
to North End Station. Oh! and they were so poor! Oh, and the boy had a
bit of old crape on his old hat! Oh, and I know he had no mother! But I
don't know whether the man was his father or his uncle. But, oh, Uncle