“Left him!—to-day?” said my mother wonderingly.
“Yes, he is in town. I brought him with me, and he will come down and see you with some one, mother, I want you very much to love.”
“You foolish boy!” said my mother. “Ah, Harry—Harry! you are too young to think of that.”
“I’m sorry he’s coming to see us,” said my father sadly. “We are not in condition to see company, wife.”
“No,” said my mother, sighing as she glanced round. “But don’t be down-hearted, dear,” she cried more cheerfully; “when things are at their worst they always mend, and I think they have got to their worst now, and have begun to mend, for Harry has come back.”
“Yes, mother,” I cried, unable to keep back my good news, knowing as I did how welcome it must be to them at such a time. “Yes, mother, I have come back, and brought with me the friend who helped my poor uncle in such a strait, and now he shall help you.”
“Ah, but my dear boy, we have no claims upon your uncle’s friend.”
“The greatest of claims, mother,” I cried excitedly, “for he is your own flesh and blood.”
“Harry!” cried my father, “what do you mean? Did you help your uncle?”
“Yes, father,” I said modestly.