“What a nice fellow he is!” he murmured. “I wonder where he belongs!”
Just then Florence came to the door. The thought instantly flashed into Miles’s brain that she had been sent there to see that he did not steal anything.
But he was accustomed to being the object of such suspicions. And yet, somehow, the idea that he should be, hurt him more than usual on the present occasion.
“My mother would like to see you down stairs,” said Florence. “I will stay here with him.”
Miles went down and found Mrs. Raynor at the foot of the stairway.
“It has just occurred to me,” she said, “that you may think it best to send to the home of this young man. Who is he?”
A troubled look came over Miles’s face. He feared that what he was about to say would settle the matter once for all about his being allowed to stay with the fellow up stairs. But he had to tell the truth.
“I don’t know his name,” he answered. “I fell in with him on the road. But I’d so much like to do something for him. You are sure there is nothing I can do?”
“You have already done a great deal for him,” returned Mrs. Raynor, “if, as I understand, you carried him in here out of the rain. And you haven’t any idea where he belongs?”
“No, I saw him lying on the grass as I was walking along the road. I was going to Trenton to try and get a job in the potteries there. But I’d like to find out how he gets along.”