"Was he an Indian?" asked Hal.
"No, he was a white boy. I'll tell you about him."
CHAPTER III. DUSTY FEET.
You never saw a kinder, sweeter woman than Joe's mother. His name was Joseph but of course nobody called him that. He was a jolly, happy boy with lots of freckles on his nose, and one reason he was so happy, though he never stopped to think about that, was that he had such a kind mother.
He lived on a farm, and his short trousers were held on by one suspender, as barefooted, he ran about from morning until night. Plenty of other boys came to play with him and one reason was that the kind mother nearly always had time, with all her work, to stop and spread a thick slice of bread and butter for a boy to eat.
"Dear little fellows, they're growing," she would say to herself, whenever Joe asked.
He and the other boys went fishing in the creek and played they were Indians in the woods. They climbed on the barn roof; they ran swift express trains, and when Joe had his chores to do there was usually some boy ready to help him do them.