“‘Where did you sleep last night?’
“‘You won’t tell, sir, if I tell you?’
“‘No.’
“‘Well, I’ve slept for three nights, now, in a covered wagon. It has been left outside, and, some way, no one has ever seen me crawl into it. Please don’t tell any one, sir. I really don’t hurt the wagon.’
“‘But why don’t you go home? Do your parents drink?’
“‘I have no home, sir; my parents are dead; they are both in heaven.’ And then the little hands hastily undid the few top buttons of his jacket, and untied a black shoe lace which served as a chain. Then, stepping nervously towards me, he said; ‘Would you like to see mamma’s picture?’
“I tell you what, sir, this action, united to the boy’s words, unmanned me. ‘John Adams,’ I asked myself, ‘you’ll befriend this boy?’ And John Adams answered, ‘I will.’
“The picture was painted on porcelain, a medallion resting on dark blue velvet; the whole was framed in a band of narrow gold. The woman was a blonde, delicate looking, but very beautiful. She had an intellectual face, and seemed of good birth. In age about twenty-five years.
“‘Has your mother been dead long?’ I next asked.