"It will be no trouble, sir. I will take good care of him."
"Willie, will you stay here while I go after your other clothes?" asked Mr. Jackson.
Willie readily consented, especially after Grit had brought him a picture-book to look over. Then he accompanied the father to the river, and they started to go across. While they were gone, Mr. Brandon returned to the cottage. His flushed face and unsteady gait showed that he had been drinking. He lifted the latch, and went in.
When he saw Willie sitting in a small chair beside his wife, he gazed at the child in astonishment.
"Is that the cub?" he asked doubtfully. "Seems to me he's grown smaller since I saw him."
"I ain't a cub," said Willie indignantly.
"Oh! yer ain't a cub, hey?" repeated Brandon mockingly.
"No, I ain't. My name is Willie Jackson, and my papa lives in New York."
"What is the meaning of this, Mrs. Brandon?" asked the inebriate. "Where did you pick up this youngster?"