“So good a fellow, mother, that when he was a young man, and not long married, he took a poor boy out of the streets and brought him up.”
“Did he really though?” Sarah said. “Ah, that’s why he wants to see us. He has heard about James turning out a gentleman, and he wonders whether his lad will do the same.”
“Like enough, mother,” John said, “I wish he’d come though; for I can’t but feel as I’m intruding here.”
“Don’t you be uneasy, father. I want to tell you about the new master, for I know you and mother will like him. His name, you know, is John Holl.”
“Yes,” John said, “John Holl, dust contractor. It’s writ up on the carts, James.”
“Just so, father, John Holl, dust contractor. Well, father, John Holl, when he was a young man, wasn’t a contractor at all, but just a dustman. When he had not been married long, he took a poor little baby whose mother had died—she was no relation to him, mother, none at all, just a poor creature without friends—and they took in the baby, and brought him up as their own.”
“He must be a real good fellow, John Holl, dust contractor,” John put in, never remembering that he had done the same thing.
“He is, father. I told you you’d like him. Well, the worst of it was, the poor baby grew up a cripple, just like me, mother. But they didn’t love it or care for it any the less, but nursed it and watched over it with even greater tenderness than they had for their own healthy children. Well, mother, years afterwards it was found out who the boy was, and he went away to his new relations. They were rich people, mother, and felt that they owed very much to those who had taken care of the poor boy for so many years. So, mother, without saying anything about it, they bought a business with a house and furniture, and carts and horses, and all; and John Holl, dust contractor, came to the house, and found the cripple boy sitting where he had sat so many years at their fireside, to say ‘Welcome home, dear mother and dear father,’” and he held out his hands to them both.
Sarah understood it now, and in a moment was crying on her knees by the chair, with her arms round his neck. John Holl sat a picture of utter bewilderment. He did not, even now, understand it, and was stupefied at his wife’s sudden emotion.
“Do you not understand, Mr. Holl?” Prescott said, coming to his assistance. “Do you not see you are John Holl, dust contractor: the house, and the carts and horses, are yours. James’s grandfather has bought them for you.”