“Oh, father, do take him! I’ll go without my new shoes; Maria says she will go without her new bonnet and shawl, and Bertie will go without his new suit, if you will only take him. Grandpa wants you to take him, and so does mother, though they didn’t like to say so. I can tell by mother’s looks when she wants anything.”
Peter burst into a flood of real heartfelt tears, that would have satisfied both his brother and sister had they witnessed it.
“Be quiet, my son; I’ll see about it.”
Wilson then handed him a certificate from the parish authorities, in which they declared: “That the boy James Renfew had been under their charge since he was three years of age, and that he was in every respect of the best moral character.”
After reading this document Whitman said: “This is a strange story, yet I see no reason to doubt it; neither do I doubt it, nor wonder that you took the boy.”
“If you had been in my place, and seen and heard what I did, you would have taken him in a moment. Those workhouse brats all have their friends, and enjoy themselves in their way together. But because this boy would not do as they did, they hated him and called him a fool, till I believe he thought he was a fool; and I don’t know where they would have stopped, short of murder, had it not been for one thing.”
“What was that?”
“The authorities told me that it was possible by long tormenting to get his temper up, and then he was like a tiger, and so strong that they were all afraid of him, and glad to let him alone. He seemed to me (so innocent among those villains) like a pond lily that I have often wondered to see growing in stagnant water, its roots in the mud and its flower white as snow spread out on that black surface. He was, poor fellow, shut out from all decent society because he was a workhouse boy; and from all bad because he was a good boy. No wonder he looks forlorn.”
“Can he do any kind of work?”
“I will call him and ask him.”