“Yes, I am a stranger. I have no friends—no one,” he said huskily, and the tears came into his eyes.
“I have no friends on this side of the sea, and not so very many beyond it—besides my mother.”
This, also, was a stupid sort of thing to say, he owned, when he came to think of it, and then he added:
“I have heard that this is a fine country to get on in.”
“Yes, so they say.”
They went on in silence, and very slowly, the stranger walking wearily, as John could see.
“I am done out,” said he at last, stopping and leaning against a tree.
“Yes, so I see. Have you far to go? I will go with you.”
“I have nowhere to go. I came here yesterday, and I slept last night in a boat by the wharf.”
“Then ye’ll just come with me,” said John heartily, giving him his arm to lean upon. He would have liked to ask his name, but he did not. They walked on slowly, till they came to the house where John was staying.