Paul was now sixteen years old, a stout, handsome boy, with a frank, open countenance, and a general air of health which formed quite a contrast to the appearance he presented when he left the hospitable mansion which Mr. Nicholas Mudge kept open at the public expense.

Paul was now very desirous of procuring a situation.  He felt that it was time he was doing something for himself.  He was ambitious to relieve the kind sexton and his wife of some portion, at least, of the burden of his support.

Besides, there was the legacy of debt which his father had bequeathed him.  Never for a moment had Paul forgotten it.  Never for a moment had he faltered in his determination to liquidate it at whatever sacrifice to himself.

“My father’s name shall be cleared,” he said to himself, proudly.  “Neither Squire Conant nor any one else shall have it in his power to cast reproach upon his memory.”

The sexton applauded his purpose.

“You are quite right, Paul,” he said.  “But you need not feel in haste.  Obtain your education first, and the money will come by-and-by.  As long as you repay the amount, principal and interest, you will have done all that you are in honor bound to do.  Squire Conant, as I understand from you, is a rich man, so that he will experience no hardship in waiting.”

Paul was now solicitous about a place.  The sexton had little influence, so that he must depend mainly upon his own inquiries.

He went into the reading-room of the Astor House every day to look over the advertised wants in the daily papers.  Every day he noted down some addresses, and presented himself as an applicant for a position.  Generally, however, he found that some one else had been before him.

One day his attention was drawn to the following advertisement.

“Wanted. A smart, active, wide-awake boy, of sixteen or seventeen, in a retail dry-goods store.  Apply immediately at—­Broadway.”

Paul walked up to the address mentioned.  Over the door he read, “Smith & Thompson.”  This, then, was the firm that had advertised.

The store ran back some distance.  There appeared to be six or eight clerks in attendance upon quite a respectable number of customers.

“Is Mr. Smith in?” inquired Paul, of the nearest clerk.

“You’ll find him at the lower end of the store.  How many yards, ma’am?”

This last was of course addressed to a customer.

Paul made his way, as directed, to the lower end of the store.

A short, wiry, nervous man was writing at a desk.

“Is Mr. Smith in?” asked Paul.

“My name; what can I do for you?” said the short man, crisply.

“I saw an advertisement in the Tribune for a boy.”

“And you have applied for the situation?” said Mr. Smith.

“Yes, sir.”

“How old are you?” with a rapid glance at our hero.

“Sixteen—­nearly seventeen.”