But London was not the child he had been when first he entered the farmer’s employ. He was now eighteen years old, and although small and ungainly of stature, and erratic in many of his mental exploits, he had imbibed something of the ambition and independence of the young men of the district, and he chafed more than ever under Riles’ authority. He found opportunity frequently to visit the Grant farmhouse; in fact, whenever the cattle were lost he first inquired at Grant’s, and it was noticed that on such occasions the stray animals were never discovered until long after dark. This meant a booting from Riles, but London held a couple of hours’ respite with the Grant boys well worth the price. Sometimes, too, he would chat with Susy Grant or Miss Vane, and neither girl guessed the strange workings of his dwarfed little intellect.
“Everybody calls you London,” said Miss Vane, one evening. “But that must be a nickname. Tell me, what is your real name? What did your mother call you, or do you remember your mother?” she added, softly.
“My real name is Wilfred Vickery,” answered the boy, “but nobody calls me that. Guess Hi’m not worth a real name,” he continued, with a bitter little laugh. “My mother gave me that name, but Hi never ’eard ’er speak it, leastways, not as Hi remembers hof.”
“That is a nice name,” said Myrtle. “I am going to call you Wilfred. You must not think you are not worthy of a good name. You must feel worthy—and then be worthy.”
“That’s not wot they say hin the churches,” the boy replied. “Once Hi went to church hin the school’ouse, to see w’at hit was loike, an’ the preacher said as ’ow we was all sinners, an’ ’ow we was hall to think wot big sinners we was, an’ ’ow we was all to think we was a bigger sinner than anybody helse. Hi guess Hi am, too, bigger’n anybody—’cept old Riles.”
“Have you tried not to be a sinner?” the girl asked.
“Wot? Not to be a sinner? Hi tried to do wot the preacher said, an’ be the biggest sinner ever was. An’ Hi guess Hi am—all but Riles.”
“But that is not what the minister meant, Wilfred. He meant that you must be humble, and that you must be sorry for your own wrongdoing.”
“Wot is ’umble?”
“Why, to be humble is to feel that you are in the world to help, and to be of service to other people, no matter who they may be.”