He was a delicate-looking boy, and, though he was dressed in a coarse, ill-fitting suit, he had an appearance of refinement and gentle nature, as if he had been brought up in a luxurious home. He looked sad and anxious, and the glances he fixed on his companion indicated that he held him in fear.
“Where are you going?” he asked timidly, looking about him apprehensively.
“You'll know soon enough,” was the rough reply.
“When are you going to take me home, Mr. Ford?” asked the boy, in a pleading tone.
“Don't trouble yourself about that.”
“Papa will be so anxious about me—papa and Grant!”
The young man's brow contracted.
“Don't mention the name of that boy! I hate him.”
“He was always good to me. I liked so much to be with him.”
“He did all he could to injure me. I swore to be even with him, and I will!”