"His name is Alexander Curzon, but mother called him The Seraph, so we jus' keep on doing it too."
"Um-hm," assented the old gentleman, "and you—what's your name?"
"John," I replied.
"Oh," he said, with an odd little smile, "and what do they keep on calling you?"
"Just John," I answered firmly, "nothing else."
"Who's your father?" came the next question.
"He's David Curzon, senior," I said proudly, "and he's in South America building a railroad an' Mrs. Handsomebody used to be his governess when he was a little boy, so he left us with her, but some day, pretty soon, I think, he's coming back to make a really home for us with rabbits an' puppies an' pigeons an' things."
Our new friend nodded sympathetically. Then, quite suddenly, he asked:
"Where's your mother?"
"She's in Heaven," I answered sadly, "she went there two months ago."