“Are you sure you are telling me the truth?”
I don’t know why I asked the question, for I saw honesty in those clear eyes of his. He looked hurt. Yes, you may laugh if you want to, I’m telling you just as it was—the boy looked as hurt as any of you would if I doubted you. There came a sort of proud shame into his manner. He clutched at the placard round his neck, as if he would tear it off, and answered, sadly,—
“I s’pose I can’t expect anybody to believe me with this round my neck; but, if you would go home with me, Mag could tell you, and you would believe her.”
By this time Laura had gone in, leaving me to finish my interview alone. I reflected a moment. The other day I had heard Tom say he wanted an errand boy. Why should he not have this one? Tom was my brother. I knew just the difficulties he would make,—want of reference, a street beggar, a regular rat of the gutter. I could fancy just how he would talk. I knew, too, that I could overrule his objections. That’s a power women have when a man loves them; whether he be husband or brother or friend. I hated the thought of vice and ignorance and poverty. What if I could save just one small boy from their clutches? I said resolutely,—
“Will you go home with me, and have a comfortable home and good food and honest work, and no one ever to beat you, and learn to read?”
I had seen no assent in his eyes till I came to this last clause of my sentence. Then he asked shrewdly,—
“Who’ll teach me? I can’t go to school and do my work, too.”
“I will teach you. Will you go and work faithfully for my brother, and learn to read?”
“Won’t I, just?”