"We can tell better to-morrow," said the physician, pityingly. "You had better go with this gentleman, so as not to disturb your father, and we will do what we can for him."
Soothed by this assurance, for the little fellow did not understand that his father was beyond earthly help, the boy was led away and put in charge of a sympathetic lady guest for the night.
"Has he been dead long, doctor?" asked Malcolm.
"Probably for over an hour. What is his name?"
"I have forgotten. It is on the register."
"Perhaps we may find a letter in his pocket that will throw light on the matter."
Malcolm put his hand in the inside coat pocket and drew out, first, a letter addressed to
Paul Harvey,
Albany,
New York.
The other had no envelope and seemed to be an open letter. It ran thus:
"To whom it may concern—
"My doctor tells me that I am liable at any moment to drop dead from heart disease. I do not dread death for myself, but when I think of my little Fred, soon to be left fatherless, as he is already motherless, I am filled with anxiety. I am practically alone in the world, and there is no one to whom I can confide. Should death come to me suddenly, I trust some kind-hearted person will adopt Freddie, and supply a father's place to him. In my inside vest pocket will be found securities amounting to eleven hundred dollars. After defraying my funeral expenses there will probably be a thousand dollars left. I leave it to any one who will undertake the care and maintenance of my dear little boy.
Paul Harvey."