"Very well: I will endeavor to get her address. Perhaps Connie could tell me."
"Oh! perhaps she could," said Ronald; "for I couldn't. I haven't a notion where she lived, except that it was far in the country, and the cottage was teeny—just two rooms, you know—and there was a pretty wood outside, and the horse-chestnuts lying on the ground."
"But now, Ronald, I want you to go farther back. Tell me of things that happened when—when your mother was alive."
"I—I'll try," said the boy.
"Go on, dear—tell me all you can."
"It's very difficult," said Ronald. "I remember little bits, and then I forget little bits."
"I don't want you to worry yourself, dear; but can you recall anybody ever calling to see your mother—anybody who might be a relation of yours?"
"There was the old gentleman, of course," said Ronald.
"Who, dear?"
"He was very old, and he wore glasses, and his hair was white. He most times made mother cry, so I—I used to be sorry when he came."