"Hello," he said, as the boy drew near.
The boy stopped and smiled at Tommy without making reply.
"Where are you going?" said Tommy.
"I am carrying this bag of tools to my father," the boy answered.
"Do you live here?" asked Tommy. "It doesn't seem like much of a place."
"No," said the boy, "it isn't much of a place, but I live here."
"What sort of tools have you got in your bag? Who is your father?"
"My father is a carpenter," answered the boy.
Tommy gave a long, low whistle. "A carpenter! Why my father owns a store, and we live in one of the best houses in town. Fairfield is the name of my town."
The boy seemed neither to notice the whistle nor the brag; but, allowing the bag to slip from his shoulders to the ground, stood, still smiling, before Tommy.