Tabitha had caught up the note and was devouring it with swift-moving eyes.
“It’s Paul’s boy, Rachel,” she broke in, “only think of it--Paul’s boy!” and she dropped the bit of paper and enveloped the lad in a fond but tearful embrace.
He squirmed uneasily.
“I’m sorry I eat up my own folks’s things. I’ll go to work any time,” he suggested, trying to draw away, and wiping a tear splash from the back of his hand on his trousers.
But it was long hours before Ralph Hapgood was allowed to “go to work.” Tears, kisses, embraces, questions, a bath, and clean clothes followed each other in quick succession--the clothes being some of his own father’s boyhood garments.
His story was quickly told. His mother was long since dead, and his father had written on his dying bed the letter that commended the boy-- so soon to be orphaned--to the pity and care of his grandparents. The sisters trembled and changed color at the story of the boy’s hardships on the way to Fairtown; and they plied him with questions and sandwiches in about equal proportions after he told of the frequent dinnerless days and supperless nights of the journey.
That evening when the boy was safe in bed--clean, full-stomached, and sleepily content the sisters talked it over. The Reverend John Hapgood, in his will, had cut off his recreant son with the proverbial shilling, so, by law, there was little coming to Ralph. This, however, the sisters overlooked in calm disdain.
“We must keep him, anyhow,” said Rachel with decision.
“Yes, indeed,--the dear child!”
“He’s twelve, for all he’s so small, but he hasn’t had much schooling. We must see to that--we want him well educated,” continued Rachel, a pink spot showing in either cheek.