"I did not say you were a burden. I have given you all you asked for, and am willing to do so still."
"I don't wish to have you do so, if what you give me does not belong to me."
"You are a foolish boy!" said he, impatiently.
"You have hardly spoken to me before for a year; and you never said as much to me as you have to-night before in all my lifetime."
"It was not necessary to do so."
"Uncle Amos, I am old enough now to be able to think for myself," I continued, earnestly. "It is time for me to know who and what I am, and I am going to find out if it is possible for me to do so."
"It is not possible," said he, greatly agitated, though he struggled to be calm. "What do you wish to know?"
"About my parents."
He walked the room for a moment with compressed lips, as if considering whether he should tell me what I wanted to know.
"If I have concealed anything from you, it was for your own good," replied he, with a desperate effort. "Your father is dead; he died eleven years ago."