As he strolled along a little boy, about seven years old, ran to meet him.
“Please, mister,” he said, “won’t you come quick? There’s a boy layin’ by the road back there, and I guess he’s dead!”
Robert needed no second appeal. His heart was warm and he liked to help others when he could.
“Show me where, bub,” he said.
The little fellow turned and ran back, Robert keeping pace with him.
By the roadside, stretched out, pale and with closed eyes, lay the poor bound boy, known as Bill Benton.
He was never very strong, and the scanty fare to which he had been confined had sapped his physical strength.
Robert, at first sight, thought he was dead. He bent down and put his hand upon the boy’s heart. It was beating, though faintly.
“Is he dead, mister?” asked the boy.
“No, but he has fainted away. Is there any water near by?”