Just then Guy and his sister were passing some open lots in the village street. Several rough boys were standing round a small bonfire which they had made out of the dead branches and leaves of trees, which the fall winds had scattered over the streets and open lots. As soon as they saw Guy, one of them cried in a jeering tone:
“There goes Mrs. Moneypenny’s cow-boy!”
“Wonder how much he gets a week,” shouted another boy.
“Perhaps he’s gwine to be the old lady’s heir,” said the first.
“Guess he ’spects young Jack Moneypenny’s gwine to die, down in the Brooklyn hospital, and he wants the old ooman to adopt him. He! he!” said a third speaker.
Loud peals of derisive laughter followed these remarks. Guy made no reply, but grasping his sister’s hand more tightly, he hurried past at a rapid walk, and was soon out of hearing.
“Oh! I am so glad we are past those wicked boys,” said Jessie, slightly shivering with fear. “But what did they call you a cow-boy for, Guy?”
“I suppose I must tell you my secret now,” said Guy. “Those boys have partly let my cat out of the bag.”
Guy then told his sister, that Mrs. Moneypenny was a poor widow, with a son named Jack. She rented a cottage and a little piece of land. A cow, a few hens, and Jack’s labor, were all she had to depend upon. Jack, being a steady boy, earned enough to keep them comfortable in their simple way of living. But a great misfortune had overtaken them. Jack, while in Brooklyn, with a lot of eggs and chickens, which he had taken in to sell, had been knocked down and run over by a horse and wagon. His leg was broken, and he was carried to the hospital.
This sad news was quickly sent to Jack’s mother. Poor old lady! It seemed as if her only stay was broken by this disaster. Being lame, she could not go to her son, neither could she take care of her cow at home. She was in deep distress, and wept many tears over poor Jack’s sufferings, and her own hard fate.