"Now, your name?" asked Mr. Benjamin, when he saw that the lad was well engaged and feeling more at home.
"Jones, sir—at least that is what they call me," answered the little fellow bravely.
"That is what they call you? How is that? Had you another name?"
"I think so, sir. I was found when I was smaller and taken to the poorhouse, as I was an orphan with no one to claim me."
"Found! That is strange. And the lad speaks well, too."
Mr. Benjamin exchanged glances with the sergeant and became silent and thoughtful. For he had noticed something strange about this protégé of his from the moment when the lad opened his lips. He spoke with a slight Hampshire accent, which had evidently been recently acquired. But there was something refined about the little fellow's voice, so much so that it was difficult to imagine that he was merely a farmer's boy.
"You were found," he said. "Where? Tell us all about it, and how you came to be working for this hulking bully. The fellow looked as if he had thrashed you many a time."
"He has, sir. He said he would kill me some day. None dared to live with him, except his wife and I, and I would have gone long ago had I not been his apprentice. Yes, sir, I was found, they tell me, when I was about five years of age, and a cottager and his wife, of the[Pg 18] name of Jones, took me in and cared for me till they died. Then I went to the poorhouse in this town, and from there to the farmer. That is all I know, sir, but perhaps Mrs. Towers, at the poorhouse, could tell you more."
"A foundling, with a mysterious tale behind him, and of late a little slave!"
Mr. Benjamin looked at the lad closely, noting his fair curly hair, now all in disorder, his fine eyes, and the cast of his features.