“For what we are about to receive—receive—truly thankful.”
It was like music in the boy’s heart; he lifted his head with a light shining in his tear-blurred eyes.
“Well, I never,” ejaculated Mrs. Evans.
The boy held his knife and fork with a grace her husband had not acquired, taking his food as slowly and daintily as a girl.
“Those Tucker men, that old Chris and Sam have no claim on you, and they haven’t done as well by you as they promised they would when they took you, a little fellow, out of the Christie Home. I’ve often spoken to Mr. Evans about it, but he’s so easy going I might as well have talked to the wind. I told our new minister that he must ‘high-way and hedge’ you; he has noticed you; but he is feeling his way among the people, and couldn’t make a stir as soon as he came.”
“Is that where I was?” asked astonished Joe. “I thought I used to be somewhere. They never told me. I seem to remember things that happened before I can remember. They told me that I hadn’t any father or mother, and wouldn’t have any home if they had not taken me in.”
“People thought you ought to be sent to school and Sunday-school, but what is everybody’s business is nobody’s business. I’m glad enough you have left them, but you should have told them you wanted to leave.”
“It wouldn’t have done any good,” he muttered “they wouldn’t have said anything.”
“Now, I’ll put out the cat, and leave the table standing, and bolt the shed door, and lock the front door, and put on my things, and we’ll be off. Nettie is fast asleep and will never miss me.”
“I will wash the dishes for you; we put them under the pump, then wipe them on anything.”