The janitor shrank like a man subjected to the torture. He fixed his glance on Mr. Sylvester’s face and his own gradually lightened.
“No sir!” said he at last, with a gasp that made the little one lift her curly head from her pillow and shake it with a slow and wistful motion strange to see in a child of only two years.
The proud man bowed, not with the severity however that might have been expected; indeed his manner was strangely shadowed, and though his lip betrayed no uneasiness and his eye neither faltered or fell, there was a vague expression of awe upon his countenance, which it would take more than the simple understanding of the worthy but not over subtle man before him, to detect much less to comprehend.
“You may be sure that Mr. Stuyvesant will never complain of anyone having tampered with his effects while you are the guardian of the vaults,” exclaimed Mr. Sylvester in clear ringing tones. “As for his box being open, it is right that I should explain that it was the result of a mistake. I had occasion to go to a