Some thought made the boy's eyes dilate. "He hasn't—gone where—where my mother is—has he?"
"No."
"I'm—I'm glad. He'd—he'd spoil heaven," declared Bertie earnestly.
Luther Wrenn nodded slowly. "An excellent description," he said. The three observers of the interview smiled. "Do you think you might adopt me in his place?" added the lawyer.
"He—he wouldn't let me. He'll come," said the boy with conviction.
"Now, Herbert," said Mr. Wrenn, with reassuring calm, "I know more about this than you do. I talked with your uncle yesterday and I think he will give you to me."
The boy's lips fell apart and he stared at the speaker gravely.
"To me, and to Mrs. Lowell. How would you like that?"
It was evident that this information could not be credited entirely, but the boy glanced around at Mrs. Lowell, who still sat close beside him, and she looked as if she believed this marvel. Unconsciously he pressed the picture against his breast. Luther Wrenn regarded the thin wrists and ankles protruding from the worn coat and trousers.