“Lemuel Fairchild!” she repeated, thoughtfully. “I don’t recall the name.”
“Read it aloud, mother,” said Harry.
She complied with his request.
This is the way the letter read:—
“No. — Nassau Street, Room 7.
New York, Nov. 7, 18—.
“Dear Madam:—Though personally a stranger to you, I knew your husband well, and have heard with the deepest regret of his sad fate. We had not met for years, but I have always cherished a warm regard for him, though on account of the absorption of my time by important business I have not been able to keep up a correspondence with him. But, without further preface, I will come to my object in writing.
“If I remember rightly, you have a son who must now be a boy of sixteen or thereabouts. No doubt you are anxious to get him into some kind of employment. In the country I am aware desirable opportunities are rare, and I presume you are at a loss how to secure him one. Now, I am desirous of taking a boy, and training him in my own business. Having no one in view, it has occurred to me that it might be a pleasant arrangement for you as well as for me, if I should take your son. I may add that I am a commission merchant, doing a large business. Can you send him up at once? As to wages, I will give him twelve dollars a week at first. He will not earn half that, but I shall feel that, in overpaying him, I shall be assisting the widow and son of my old friend.
“Yours very truly,
“Lemuel Fairchild.