Leaving the office Myles started toward the railway station, which was only a block farther on, to assure himself that every thing about it was still quiet. As he reached its broad platform he noticed there a child four or five years old, and wondered what such a little thing could be doing all alone in such a place at that hour, for it was now about eight o’clock. Stepping up to the child he asked:
“Well, little one, what is your name?”
“My name Bobby,” replied the child, gravely, lifting a roguish but self-possessed little face to look at the tall young fellow bending over him.
As the light from a reflector hung outside the station fell on it, Myles thought he had never seen a sweeter or more winning face on a child, and he at once became greatly interested in the little fellow.
“Well, Bobby, where do you live?” he asked.
“Over there.” And the child pointed vaguely into the darkness behind them.
“But what are you doing out here so late, and all alone? Don’t you know it is high time for all good little boys to be in bed?”
“I’s waiting for my papa.”
“Who is your papa?”
“Why, my papa is my papa,” answered the child, with an air of surprise that any one should ask such a question.