“That is bad, very bad,” said Mr. Somers, feelingly. “No wonder that a poor little orphan like you has had a rough life. It is well that you have come through life with an honest record, after being exposed to such temptations.”
“I never carried away anything I hadn’t earned,” said Will, “and never hit a boy that wasn’t as big or bigger than me. And never took no slack from anybody, if he was as big as a meeting-house and dressed like a king.”
“Brave, independent and honest,” said the old gentleman, “you are the making of a true American citizen. I only hope my poor boy may have as good a record.”
“Your boy?” said Will, questioningly.
“Yes, my lad,” said Mr. Somers, with a pained expression. “I had two dear children, a boy and a girl, who are lost to me. I do not know if they even live. Perhaps it is better if they do not.”
“That’s a bad biz’ness,” said Will, looking the sympathy he so poorly expressed.
“They were stolen from me by an enemy, an old vagrant who had a fancied injury to revenge. I have sought them in vain ever since. I fear I shall never find them.”
“And the old vagabond?”
“He is dead. His secret perished with him.”
“Well, that’s bad. Don’t wonder you’re down-hearted. Hope you’ll run across them yet, but it’s risky. Guess I’ll have to go now.”