The boy was motherless, and, by the death of his father, had been left utterly destitute. He had found a home with Scythia Woods, an eccentric woman, who lived in a hut on the mountain side, half way between North End and Rockhold, and he supported himself in a poor way by running errands and doing little jobs about the works.
Little Cora Haught listened to this account of the poor, friendless, self-reliant lad with the deepest sympathy.
"Uncle Clarence," she pleaded, "you are so rich. Why don't you give that poor boy clothes, and shoes, and hats, and all he ought to have?"
"My good little girl, nothing would give me more delight, but that fellow would see Rockharrt & Sons swallowed up by an earthquake before he would take a cent from them that he had not earned."
"Oh, I like that—that is grand! But why don't you take him on and give him good pay?"
"But, my dear, he is a boy, and cannot do regular heavy work. He is quite uneducated, and cannot do any other except what he does."
Two months later, one lovely spring day, she saw him again for the first time since their meeting on the train six months previous. He came to Rockhold one Saturday afternoon to bring a letter from the manager to the head of the firm. He came to the back door which opened from the porch. He sent in his letter by the servant who came at his knock, and he said he was to wait for an answer. Cora, in the back parlor, saw him, recognized him, and ran out to speak to him.
Perhaps the tiny lady had some faint idea of the duties and responsibilities of wealth and station. So she spoke to the boy.
"Are you Regulas Rothsay?" she inquired, in a soft tone.
"Yes, miss," replied the boy.