"Oh, he'll find you, I expect. But don't worry—it is always a bad plan to go to meet trouble. We shall find your grandfather all right, I've no doubt. Have you any idea what he's like?"
"No. I think he must be kind, for he used to write to mother sometimes and send her money—I suppose he knew she was very poor. And he'd always tell mother not to mention the money when she wrote—because, he said, he particularly didn't wish to be thanked."
"He must be a rather good sort, I should say."
"Oh, I hope so!"
The train was swaying less now, and Billy was no longer in fear that it was running away. He grew very confidential with Tom Turpin. By-and-by he spoke of the Zeppelin raid again.
"I don't remember much about it," he said. "It seems now just like a dream—a very bad dream. It was in the night, you see. I didn't know at the time that mother was killed, because I was stunned. I didn't know anything till I woke up in the hospital. I thought mother might be there, too, but she wasn't—she was dead. Then they took me to the Institution—that's the workhouse—and, afterwards, I told them about grandfather, and now—"
"And now I hope your troubles are nearly over," broke in the young soldier. "Come, cheer up! By the way, have you any sisters or brothers?"
Billy shook his head. "There was only mother and me," he replied with a stifled sob.
The mist was lifting slightly, so that they could see they were approaching beautifully wooded country. Tom Turpin's eyes smiled as they noted this.
"Nearing home!" he murmured to himself. Then, hearing the little boy sigh, he said, "You're nearing home, too, and I hope it's going to be a very happy home indeed."