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Paul, an older brother, has a stand on Causeway Street, and you would have laughed to see how the two boys managed when they first "set up trade."

Of course there were the license papers and the bright silver badges (just like the newsboys I told you about ) that they had to get from the city. But then, there was a great deal more to be done before they were ready to give their customers a "shine."

A rough pine box, that was the beginning of the "stock in trade" and since they both wanted one the two boys started off together.

"I say, Fred, let's go down to the 'tobaker ' store on Causeway Street," suggested bright, black-eyed Paul. "Mebbe we'll find something there!"

"All right!" shouted Fred. "And lookee here -- why not take a big long feller and go halves?"

Now, it does seem strange that an empty box should have cost the boys a single penny, but I know they had to pay ten cents for the particular piece of lumber Fred selected; and when they had sawed it in two, the next thing in order was to have a wooden shoe, or rather a "last," put upon each half.

With a good box of carpenter's tools they might, perhaps, have done the work themselves; but to try it with a jack-knife was about as hopeless a job as the old woman undertook when she tried to whittle down a crow-bar into a knitting-needle. Lo, another ten cents -- or rather twenty cents, for you see there were two boxes to be mounted, -- was paid to the old shoe- maker who had done the job for other bootblacks, dozens of times before.

"Ain't it nice, though?" exclaimed Paul, as he drew his little brown hand over the smooth white last.

And, really, it did begin to look like business when the boys fastened the leather straps to their neat little boxes, slung them across their shoulders, and marched down Hanover Street merrily whistling "Mulligan Guards." "

Now, for the blacking. Should they patronize Bix -- by, Day & Martin, or that new firm with the unpronounceable name? It was a hard question to decide, but as Fred insisted that the latter was the best, -- all the boys said so! -- Paul yielded the point, and for three cents each the boxes of blacking were bought and pocketed.

"A 'dauber,' next! hurrah for a 'dauber'! "shouted Paul.

"And a 'shiner,' too!" added Fred, as they counted out the last of the bright pennies their fond, hard-working mother had given them for "capital."

"Dear me! it will take every one," sighed Paul; "but then, we must have 'em!"

"Of course we must!" echoed Fred. "And then, you see, they'll last -- O, forever!"

Paul, however, examines the brushes very carefully before parting with those precious pennies. "For sometimes, you know," he whispered to Fred, "they do cheat a feller awfully with old moth-eaten things."

Forty cents for the "shiner," a few cents less for the "dauber," and now their stock in trade is complete. No, not quite; for they must each have a bit of carpeting, the careful mother says, to save the knees of their trowsers. This, however, needn't cost them a penny, for she has found two strips that will be just the thing. Yes, and here are two little overalls, dark blue and snuff brown, that they can draw right over their jackets. Dear me! how I wish all our little bootblacks had good thoughtful mothers like Mrs. Anato.

But Fred and Paul are more highly favored than most of their comrades. In spite of poverty, they have a home and a father and mother to love and care for them; while here is Antonio Deveroni, brought up in a bar-room; and little Frank Donclaro, whose mother is dead and whose father is just a wretched drunkard.

I want to tell you, by the way, more of Antonio; and if you would like to know how he looks, just imagine Dickens' "Fat Boy," with jet-black hair banged over his forehead, and those great, liquid, Italian eyes, that have just about the same expression in them, as a big Newfoundland dog's. Antonio's stand for blacking boots is down on South Market Street, and his home is in Ferry Court. But I always think of him just as I saw him at the North Margin Street school.

He was nearly an hour late, and came creeping -- or rather rolling in, -- with a downcast, crestfallen look.

"Job!" was the only excuse he had to offer, and I'm afraid it wasn't any excuse at all; for, if he began sawing wood at eight o'clock as he said, there was no reason in the world why he couldn't have left off when school-time came. The truth is, he is a lazy boy and doesn't like to study. But the few, firm, kind words from Mr. Wright, the city officer, who was waiting for the tardy boys, did far more good than any amount of scolding or whipping could have done. And I don't believe Antonio will be "behind time" again, for a very, very long while.

Stupid and indolent, he is withal so good-natured, kind-hearted and generous, that he is a great favorite with the boys; and really, there is the making of a noble man in Antonio. But, oh dear! that dreadful liquor saloon down in Ferry Court! Just as soon as he is out of school and back from work, his father makes him tend at the bar, and unless some kind Providence interferes, I'm afraid the poor boy, so easily influenced by good or evil, will be dragged down into what the sailors call the "Black Sea."