"Then I will tell you. I was the person who brought him here fourteen years ago."
"You don't say so?" ejaculated Mrs. Fogson, her little bead-like eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Was he your child?"
"Certainly not, but he was my brother's child."
"And what was your object in bringing him here?"
"My brother was dead, and the child was thrown upon me for support," answered the woman after a little hesitation. "I could not support him, and so brought him where I thought he would have a home. But you are not the woman who was in charge of the poorhouse at that time."
"No; that was Mrs. Avery."
"And is Mrs. Avery still living?"
"Yes; she lives in a small house in the village."
"I will go and see her."